


Tempus

by ravenna_c_tan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BDSM, Dubious Consent, Good Slytherins, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Romance, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Time Travel, parlor games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 85,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1875756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenna_c_tan/pseuds/ravenna_c_tan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did you ever wonder where the Hogwarts disappearing corridors go--or when? When Harry Potter finds himself at Hogwarts in 1927 he never expected that the first person he would run into would be... Draco Malfoy?? 85,000 words. Written for the "hp_cliche" challenge in 2006, run by ReganV. Beta-read by Miraba.</p>
<p>Harry is magically transported back to Hogwarts in 1926, and until they find a way to return him to 1997, he is enrolled as a student. The very first student he meets is a blond Slytherin named Draco Malfoy. A time without Voldemort gives Harry the chance to learn things about magic and himself, but that era is not without certain evils. Mixes mystery, romance, action/adventure, and first-time smut. Nominated for a Multi-faceted Award. </p>
<p>Additional warnings: Corporal punishment, teacher/student, consensual BDSM as well as dubious consent, torture, alcohol consumption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This novel-length fic was written for the challenge community "hp_cliche" on LiveJournal, in which I was challenged to write a Harry time-travel slashfic that did NOT involve Snape (which is the usual cliche). I got an idea for how to make it Draco instead and ran with it.
> 
> When I started, I did not realize I was writing a novel, but it quickly became clear that it was. It spans multiple genres, including mystery, romance, and action/adventure. And there is plenty of sex, as well...

Harry ran. His footsteps echoed against the stone walls of the dungeon. It wouldn't do to be late for Potions again, not when he had been late twice already this week. Why did the class have to be first thing in the morning? Harry had taken to skipping breakfast, snatching an extra forty winks when he could, sometimes lingering in bed a little too long. At least Snape isn't around to harangue me about it, he thought as he made the last turn toward the classroom. He slowed in relief--the group of students waiting to enter the room was still queued up in the hallway. Harry slipped quietly into line at the end, chest heaving a bit from the dash down the stairs.

His eyes focused on the dark alcove next to where he stood and he was surprised to notice a painting there. Whomever the portrait was of must have been off visiting another painting because all that showed within the frame was a dark and stormy-looking background, and a heap of stones. The mouth of a cave? Well, a dark painting for a dark dungeon. No wonder the frame's occupant was elsewhere.

The students ahead of him began to move--Professor Slughorn had opened the door and they were shuffling in. One eye still on the painting, Harry took a step forward, only to feel like he had run into a brick wall.

"Potter," was all Vincent Crabbe said by way of explanation as he stopped Harry with his hands on his shoulders, then shoved him backward into the alcove.

Harry supposed no other explanation was needed. He was Harry Potter, and the Slytherin goons hated him. Now that Malfoy wasn't around to direct their energies anymore, both Crabbe and Goyle had been taking it out on Harry ever since the term started. Crabbe wasn't even in the Potions class--it was too advanced for him--but he must have been passing by from the Slytherin dungeons. Harry fell hard against the stone, his head cracking against the wall, even as he berated himself for letting his guard down.

Stupid, he thought to himself as he lay there a moment, waiting for the pain to subside. The only reason they don't kill you is because Voldemort wants you for himself. He wished, not for the first time, that he didn't have to live life with a death sentence hanging over him, and then climbed resolutely out of the alcove. The last of the students were just filing into the classroom. Harry hurried to catch up, then slid into the one empty seat still left at a brewing bench, hastily pulling his Potions book and a quill from his bag.

At the front of the classroom he was surprised to see a woman standing there. She had her hair drawn back in a bun, small oval glasses, and was wearing practical-looking black robes. A substitute teacher? What happened to Slughorn? Perhaps that explained the delay...?

"We will pick up where we left off Wednesday," the woman began, without preamble. "With our discussion of Love Potions."

Harry blinked. He didn't recall anything about Love Potions from the previous class, and he became aware of a susurrus of discussion going around the room. He looked around.

Unfamiliar faces were looking back at him. He knew by the colour of their ties that this was a mix of Slytherins and Gryffindors--and surely even if he had somehow walked into the wrong year's class, he should recognize the members of his own house? He noticed then that the professor was looking at him as well, as if waiting for him to say something.

He raised his hand out of habit. "Yes, young man," she replied briskly. "I believe you are in the wrong place, am I right?"

"I, I suppose I am, professor," he said, wondering what her name was. "I'm in seventh year now and I guess I got my schedule confused."

She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. "What is your name, young man?"

"Harry Potter, ma'am," he answered, and was surprised to see not even a glimmer of recognition in her eyes.

"Well, Mister Potter, this is the seventh year NEWT Potions section, and I don't believe I have your name on my roll call." She tapped her wand impatiently against her arm. "And I have a class to teach." She then turned to a student sitting at the front. "McManus, have you seen him before?"

The student, a brown-haired boy with a shiny prefect badge pinned to his robes and neatly knotted red and gold tie, shrugged. "I'd take him up to the headmaster's office, Professor, but he teaches this period."

"Very well. Take him up there and straighten this out after class is over. Mr. Potter, I would suggest you follow along as I expect your full participation if you are going to be in my classroom."

"Yes, Professor."

"Now, turn to page 326, and let us review the ingredient preparation for Heart's Delight." She turned and with a wave of her wand at the blackboard presented the full list in flowing script.

Harry opened his book, only to find that his page numbers did not match--page 326 in his copy of Advanced Potions, Volume Two had an essay about the relationship between the antidotes for hiccups and hysteria. He flipped the pages.

"Quit fussing." His benchmate elbowed him and slid his book over. "Share mine."

"Er, thanks." But Harry found that now that he had looked at whom he sat next to, he had trouble tearing his eyes away from the fellow. His hair was white-blond, much longer than Harry expected, and his eyes were blue, not hazel-grey, but he was the spitting image of Draco Malfoy. Harry tensed, but whoever this was, he seemed to have no malicious intent. If this was all a trick of Voldemort's, it seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go to...

At last, the lecture wound down and it was time to brew. "Have you got a cauldron, then?" his benchmate asked, his voice laced with skepticism.

"Right here," Harry said, tugging on his school bag under the workbench.

"Excellent." The blond let a smile onto his face. "Set it up while I get the ingredients, why don't you?" And with that the Malfoy look-alike walked away.

When he came back, Harry had readied the cauldron. The other student spread out the ingredients on the workbench and then offered his hand. "I'm Malfoy, by the way." He took Harry's hand in his, while Harry struggled to keep his face impassive. "Draco Malfoy." He pulled his hair back and tied it with a ribbon.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said in a small voice. This had to be some kind of vision. Any second now Malfoy's head would split open, snakes would come out, and the professor would turn into Voldemort. Right?

But no such thing happened. Harry and this other Draco Malfoy worked together on the potion and Harry found him surprisingly companionable.

"Don't let Gullwing get under your skin," Malfoy said at one point, after the professor had loomed behind them as they worked, then moved on when it appeared there was little to criticize in their work.

"Oh, she's far from the hardest potions teacher I've had," Harry answered with an inward smile. "Do you want to crush the Ashwinder eggs or should I?"

"Um, that's actually the mother of pearl that's supposed to be crushed. The eggs go in whole."

"Oh." Harry expected Malfoy's voice to be more full of scorn, but instead he mostly sounded amused.

"Here, use my pestle. It's charmed to make the grounds very fine."

"Thanks."

Concentrating on brewing the potion and the fact that Malfoy seemed genuinely helpful, allowed Harry to relax a bit, and in the absence of more information there was little more he could do to solve the riddle of his situation. The schoolwork occupied his brain for the next hour. Before he knew it they were done, and Professor Gullwing had--grudgingly, it seemed to Harry--given them high marks when they approached her desk with a sample.

"I'll take Potter up to the headmaster," Malfoy said, as she jotted down their grades.

"Mr. Malfoy, do you think that's wise?" she had replied, looking at him over the tops of her glasses.

But Malfoy did not answer that, merely indicating that Harry should follow him with a jerk of his head. He pulled the ribbon from his hair and let it flow over his shoulders again as he walked back to the bench to retrieve his things.

They made their way out of the classroom, up through familiar corridors, passing students as they went. Harry did not recognize any of them. "Thanks for helping me, Malfoy," he said, his mouth feeling odd as he did so, as if those words didn't belong together in a sentence. "I'm not sure what's going on, but I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," Malfoy said. "I do love a good mystery." He turned his blue eyes on Harry then, as if searching him for clues.

Harry felt himself blush a little under that stare. "I don't recognize anyone," he said.

"But you say you're a seventh year at Hogwarts."

"In Gryffindor, yeah," Harry said. "And this is certainly Hogwarts."

"Where did you get those shoes?" Malfoy asked, as they went up the stairs toward the entrance hall.

"These old trainers?"

"I've never seen the like."

"Oh, uh, they're Muggle shoes," Harry said, thinking it was odd that he would be the only one in this alternate-Hogwarts who wore them. He had a thought then. Could this be an alternate universe, where there were no Muggleborns? Without Muggleborns to hate, would the Malfoys be as nice as this? "Um, they're very comfortable and the traction is good."

Malfoy shrugged. "Here we are."

They were at the foot of the spiral staircase that led to what Harry still thought of as Dumbledore's office, though of course even in his own Hogwarts it was Professor McGonagall's office now. The gargoyle at the bottom of the stairs stood impassive, as usual.

"Draco Malfoy here to see the headmaster," the blond said to the gargoyle.

"Wait here," the gargoyle said. Then after a moment, "He says to ask who that is with you."

"He's why I'm here. Harry Potter."

After a moment the gargoyle spoke again. "Says he's never heard of Harry Potter." Harry blinked.

Draco huffed. "I know, none of us have, but he's here now and needs dealing with. What's he doing up there, anyway, playing solitaire with his Tarot cards? Let us in."

The gargoyle sighed heavily and then leapt aside.

Malfoy went first into the office, and then Harry. He recognized the man behind the desk immediately.

"Mr. Malfoy, I'll kindly remind you that I do not welcome informal visits from my students. Now, what seems to be the problem?" said Phineas Nigellus Black.

"I know you!" Harry stammered. "From a portrait in... well, in the headmast...er..." he trailed off realizing how ridiculous what he said sounded, and also that Headmaster Black was fixing him with a steely glare.

Malfoy stepped smoothly in. "Headmaster, this young man appeared in the Potions classroom today, and appears to be something of an enigma."

"What do you mean, appeared?" Black's eye twitched a bit as he held his impatience barely in check.

"It was actually in the hallway," Harry corrected. "I fell into an alcove and when I came out, everything had changed." If this was really Phineas Black, then... "May I ask you a question, sir?"

"You may," Black growled.

"What year is it?"

Black looked at the two students as if they were either barking mad or having him on. "You should know perfectly well it is 1926, Mr. Potter."

"But when I woke up this morning it was 1997!" Harry exclaimed.

"Merlin's beard, that would explain the shoes," Malfoy said. "As well as your book."

Harry looked down at his white trainers, and then bent down and rummaged in his school bag. "Here, take a look at this, sir." He pulled out his copy of Advanced Potions, Volume Two, and opened to the copyright page. He placed the book on the desk in front of the headmaster who looked at it with a snort.

"Tenth Revised Edition, nineteen hundred and ninety five," he read aloud. Then he looked up at them. "Impertinent boys! Did you really think I would fall for such a hoax?"

"But sir," Harry began.

"This is some little friend of yours from the countryside, isn't it, Mr. Malfoy? Are you getting lonely now that Regulus has been removed from your influence?"

Malfoy's ears burned scarlet at that but he said nothing.

"Sir, you can ask Professor Gullwing," Harry said. "She was going to send me up here with McManus, but Malfoy offered to bring me."

The old headmaster glared at Malfoy, barely sparing a glance at Harry. "Are you a wizard then?"

"Yes, sir. I'm a student at Hogwarts. Only, in the future..."

"Let me see your wand." Harry slid the wand from his robes and handed it to the headmaster, who looked it over with a critical eye. He drew his own wand, placed it tip to tip with Harry's and muttered "Prior incantato."

The last time someone had used that spell on Harry's wand, a ghostly image of The Dark Mark had appeared, as that had been the last spell cast from it. This time, Harry saw to his horror, the ghostly image remained of him hurriedly casting a cleaning charm on his private parts this morning in bed. Now Harry's ears were redder than Malfoy's--and so were the headmaster's as he nearly dropped Harry's wand.

Malfoy suppressed a snigger and raised an eyebrow at Harry. Harry gave an infinitesimal shrug in return while the headmaster began to sputter.

"Impertinent! I should have you both flogged for this!"

Harry blanched. Were they still flogging back in 1926? "Sir, please," he said, pressing his hands together. "All I want is to get back to my rightful place and time. I'll take Veritaserum, anything, but you must believe me."

Phineas Nigellus Black made a harrumphing noise and stood, leaving Harry's wand on the desk. Harry snatched it back as the old wizard went to his fireplace, tossed in some Floo powder, and stuck his head in. "Galatea, I have a student here in my office who says you can verify his story. Would you be so kind as to step up here for a moment?"

He pulled his head back, and a few moments later Professor Gullwing stepped out of the fireplace, brushing ashes from her shoulders. "Greetings, headmaster. Yes, this is the boy I sent up here with Mr. Malfoy. Potter, was it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied, and it struck him funny that people were acting like they didn't know who he was. It was strange, but refreshing, in a way.

"Do you have a brother named Charlus, by any chance?"

"Er, no ma'am. I'm an only child."

The two professors exchanged looks. "You can see why I believe I'm being played for a fool, Galatea," Black said, with a significant glance at Malfoy. "But in case Mr. Potter here really did come from the year 1996..."

"1997," corrected Harry.

"...I cannot risk legilimizing him and learning of future events. I've got 79 years of memories and I am loath to let the Ministry erase them in a misguided attempt to keep the time line pure."

"You're exactly right, headmaster. I believe there are other ways we can check, however, if the boy or the items he has brought with him are from the future. Mr. Potter, have you something you can surrender to me for the afternoon?" She held out her hand. "Come, come, I haven't got all day."

"Er, well," Harry thought about it. He didn't want to give up any of his books, since if he did return to his own time, he'd need them. He couldn't well go around barefoot. "How about this?" He unknotted his red and gold tie and put it into her hand.

"That will do nicely. I will have answers by dinner time. Good day. Good day, Headmaster." With that, she stepped back into the Floo, announced her office, and disappeared in a flash of green flame.

At that Black rounded on the boys. "That tie had better have come from the future or I'll have you both flayed." He opened a drawer in his desk, took out something silver and shining, and then stepped up to Harry. He pinned a silver insignia to Harry's robes, and then tapped it with his wand.

"Sir?" Harry asked.

"Visitor's pass," the headmaster said as he sat down behind his desk again. "Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you keep the visitor with you, for now," he said in a voice that said he clearly expected he would see them both strung up in the dungeons tonight. "Good day."

They were halfway down the hallway from the gargoyle before Malfoy burst out laughing. "Oh, oh my, I half wish we were having him on. That was priceless."

Harry blushed as he remembered what they had all seen ghost out of his wand. "Er..."

"I thought the old prig was going to burst a blood vessel!" Then his voice dropped in volume. "A little morning cleanup was that?"

"Uh, yeah." Harry kept expecting Malfoy's voice to drop into a sneer, to rip him to shreds. But that wasn't this Malfoy. He smiled. "I tell you, from now on I'm always going to follow it with ... I dunno... Lumos or something...!"

Malfoy chuckled. "Well, you're to stick by me and I think we've probably missed most of lunch. There'd be a ruckus if I brought you into the Great Hall now anyway. Let's go get something to eat for ourselves."

"Okay."

Harry followed Malfoy downstairs, and he thought for a while that they were headed for the kitchens. Would that same painting of fruit be there? Harry wondered. But then he recognized the route they were taking. To the Slytherin dungeons. Malfoy brought him through the common room, which looked remarkably similar to how it had appeared the one time Harry had been there before, up a small set of stairs, down a narrow corridor, to a heavy wooden door.

Malfoy put his hand to the iron handle, said the words "Dragon's blood," and the door opened onto what Harry thought of as either a large room or a small apartment. A four poster bed with green and silver curtains stood in one corner, a writing desk with bookshelves full of books sat near the fireplace. In the back, up a step, there was a table on which sat a rich green woven cloth, with four chairs. Malfoy strode directly to the table and sat down, indicating Harry should also.

A few quick flicks of Malfoy's wand and a roast chicken smelling of rosemary and several other dishes appeared on the table. A round cake of some kind flew over from the cupboard, as did two brown, familiar-looking bottles.

"Butterbeer," Harry breathed. "I'm parched."

"From my private stock," Malfoy said, his eyebrow notching. "Try it." As he said it, both bottles' tops popped off, and the two young wizards clinked their bottles together before drinking deeply. "So, what do you think?" Malfoy said, putting his bottle down and serving the chicken onto two plates.

"Best I've ever had," Harry admitted. "And, uh, your room is very nice, too," he added, remembering that guests were supposed to praise a host's home. At least, that's what the Dursleys had always said, though they'd never taken him anywhere for him to use the manners they wanted him to learn. "Is it just you, here?"

"That's right, you're a bloody Gryffindor, I forgot," Malfoy said. "Crammed in those tower rooms together. Well, welcome to Slytherin, seventh year, Harry Potter." Malfoy pointed at the chicken with his fork. "It's not charmed to stay warm, you know."

They ate in silence for a few minutes after that, but curiosity spurred them both to talk. Malfoy spoke first. "So you just... fell?... into our time?"

"Seems like it," Harry replied. "They give that warning every year, about corridors that appear and disappear in the castle, but the corridor was the same--right there by the potions room. I suppose it's possible someone hexed me back in time, but I don't know." Crabbe's shove hadn't been accompanied by any incantation as far as he could tell, and he doubted Crabbe was a master of nonverbal spells--not to mention it would have to be a truly powerful spell to send a wizard through time. Could a time-turner even take someone back that far? "It's so weird because Hogwarts... it isn't any different. I recognize everything."

"Well, it's bloody been here a thousand years, so what's a few decades going to do?" Malfoy said, wiping his mouth on a green cloth napkin.

"I suppose." Harry hadn't even noticed the napkin by his own plate until then. He put it in his lap. "The headmaster seemed pretty upset with you."

Malfoy huffed, half a laugh, and made a dismissive gesture. "He's just upset because I got his grandson into ... some trouble." But his eyes dropped, his blond lashes fluttering, and Harry wondered what he was hiding. "What about you? Are you a troublemaker in Hogwarts' future?"

"I suppose I am," Harry said, grinning, and enjoying the feeling of freedom that came with talking to someone who didn't think they already knew all about him. He suddenly wondered if the Marauder's Map would work now. "His grandson?" he said aloud, as he tried to remember the names on the Black family tree.

"Regulus," Malfoy said. "You look shocked. Is there a Regulus Black in the future?"

"Er... I think there was..."

"It's pretty common for wizarding families to use the same names over and over," he said.

"Um, so I gathered," Harry replied. "I know a Draco Malfoy, too."

Malfoy sat back, his back suddenly a bit stiffer than it had been.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Malfoy said quickly. "It's just, you know... You can't tell me anything about the future that might affect things, because it might wipe out the time you're trying to get back to."

"Oh." Harry felt foolish, then, even as he had the feeling that wasn't why Malfoy had stiffened.

But Malfoy was smooth as silk now, unruffled. "In fact, you probably ought to hide your books down here. It wouldn't do for someone to open up your history book and really muck things up."

"Too right," Harry agreed, and went to his school bag. 1926, before Voldemort. It was even before Grindelwald, he realized, and before Hitler, if he remembered his Muggle history correctly. He knelt down with the bag by the bookshelf. "Do you think I should leave Advanced Theories of Transfiguration, too?"

"Leave them all, just to be on the safe side. You can share books with me." Malfoy came and knelt down next to him on the fine-woven rug. "Your notebooks are probably fine, though. Better take those along."

They went to Charms next, and then to History of Magic, where Harry was pleasantly surprised to see Professor Binns teaching. Well, perhaps pleasant wasn't the right word, Binns was still as boring as ever, and Harry began to drift off soon into the lecture. He jerked awake suddenly, though, when Malfoy squeezed him on the thigh under the table. "Old Black wasn't kidding about the flogging thing," Malfoy whispered. "I'll keep you awake if you keep me awake."

"Sure," Harry said. "But in seven years I haven't stayed awake in one of Binns' classes yet."

"Is that a challenge, then?" Malfoy elbowed him and slid his wand out of the pocket in his robes.

A few minutes later, Harry started to drift, then felt a sharp buzz of sensation against his leg. Malfoy had touched him with his wand, and it felt like a mild electric shock. Harry pulled his own wand out and aimed it at Malfoy's knee, but Malfoy did not seem to be nodding off. Instead, it was Harry who again began to fade.

Malfoy jolted him again, this time on the inside of Harry's thigh. Harry knocked his knee against the underside of the desk when he jumped, though Binns, as usual, seemed not to notice. Malfoy's grin was wicked, and he slid the wand further up Harry thigh, to rest just below his zipper.

"You wouldn't," Harry muttered.

"I would," Malfoy replied, his eyes narrowing, and for a moment Harry could see a sliver of the Draco he knew.

He suddenly did not feel the slightest bit sleepy, and was determined that it would be Malfoy who got jolted next. Or at least jabbed by the tip of Harry's wand, since Harry didn't know the spell Malfoy was using.

They stayed that way through the end of the class, and Harry was amazed. He might have even learned something out of Binns' droning on. At the end of class, a ghost Harry did not recognize came floating through the wall, and said something to Binns that the class could not hear.

"Mr. Malfoy? You and your friend are to go to the headmaster's office," Binns then said. "That is all, class dismissed."

Up in the headmaster's office, they were greeted by not only the headmaster and Galatea Gullwing, but also by two other wizards Harry did not know. One of them inclined his head toward Malfoy as they took seats in front of the headmaster's desk.

"So, boy, it appears you told the truth," Black said without preamble to Harry. "Professor Gullwing here has proved beyond any doubt that you did in fact come from the future. As of now, we have no way of returning you to your own time, though we have experts at the Ministry pondering that very thing right now. Assuming that it may be some time before you can be returned, if indeed you can be returned at all, then we have some niggling details that must be taken care of."

The headmaster gestured to the tall blond wizard who had sat directly at Harry's right. "This is Mr. Justus Gallant, from the Ministry of Magic. If you would, Mr. Gallant."

"Certainly, headmaster," The man took out his wand, waved it once, and then tapped Harry on the top of the head.

"Ow!" Harry rubbed his head--that tap had been a little harder than necessary. "What was that for?"

"You have been placed under a geas not to speak of the future to anyone. We simply cannot risk it." Black harrumphed. "Now as to the other details..."

"Come now, Phineas, the boy belongs in my house, surely you recognize that," Professor Gullwing said.

"Galatea, he'll only be here for a year at most, and where are you going to put him?" said the wizard Harry had not heard speak yet. He had curling brown hair down over his collar and cheerful cheeks, though his eyes were somber. "The tower is full to bursting and you know what happened the last time we tried to modify the architecture..."

"You know full well, Gaius, that there is a difference between making room for an extra bed and trying to install a swimming pool in the dungeons." Professor Gullwing's voice dropped in anger. "He's a Gryffindor, and you don't really expect him to bed down in that nest of vipers you call a house, do you?"

"Excuse me!" roared Black, "But Galatea, you might do well to remember that before Gaius, I was the head of Slytherin House?"

Professor Gullwing flushed, then said in a smaller voice, "Of course, Headmaster. I meant no offense."

Black turned his gaze back to the other wizard. "Very well. Gaius, have you room for the boy?"

"Without a doubt, headmaster."

"Fine. You take him. I leave the details of his schedule and so on, to you. Potter," he barked, "you'll be expected to pass your NEWTs if you're still here when exam time comes. For all we know, you might be stuck here. I suppose your presence will have to be explained, by ..." He huffed. "Let's say you are a transfer from a school on the continent. Hrm, yes, your father works for the Ministry but had his family with him in, let's see, Liechtenstein. Clear? Excellent, now get out of my office." With that he stood, and they were all dismissed.

The Slytherin head of house held out his hand toward Professor Gullwing, who reluctantly handed him Harry's tie. He shook it once, and it transformed into a snake, then he smirked and it was a tie once again, but this time a green tie threaded with silver. "Here you are," he said, handing it to Harry. "So you'll look presentable at table."

Harry took it without saying a word. It was dinner time, and he would be sitting with the Slytherins.

-end chapter one-


	2. Chapter 2

The Great Hall looked exactly as Harry knew it, the ceiling ensorcelled to reflect the night sky, which was clear and crisp, the four great house tables running the length of the room. Malfoy pulled him into a space on the long bench at the end of the table; the seventh years sat closest to the door and farthest from the watchful eyes of the Head Table as a matter of course. 

Harry tugged on his tie a bit as they sat down. He couldn't help but feel like it was going to turn back into a snake and strangle him. 

"Did old LeStrange get the size wrong?" Malfoy asked then, as he watched Harry pull on it. "He's such a show off isn't he? He just does it to irk Gullwing, though. I swear, they must have had an affair at some point, the way they bicker."

"Who, what?" Harry said, confusedly. The name LeStrange had sent a shock of ice water through his veins.

"Here." Malfoy undid the tie, and re-tied it, sliding the knot gently up over Harry's Adam's Apple. Harry swallowed. "Gaius LeStrange is our head of house. He teaches Arithmancy, which hardly anyone takes. And I was serious about him and Gullwing." Malfoy laughed softly. "Everyone knows, Slytherins make the best lovers."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, but he was saved from making a reply when another student clapped Malfoy on the shoulder. "So, who's your friend?"

"Potter, meet Hector Crabbe."

This Crabbe had lighter hair, not as much of a curl as the Vincent Harry knew. But he was still big. Harry shook his hand thinking to himself, could Goyle be far behind? "Hi. Uh, yeah. I'm a transfer student."

"From Liechtenstein," Malfoy said with a ridiculous accent, and he began to snigger. 

The snigger was infectious. "Yes, from Leek-teen-steyen," Harry repeated, laughing, too. 

Crabbe gave Malfoy a friendly push on the shoulder. "What are you going on about, then?"

"Nothing," Malfoy said. "Private joke. Tell you later, Crabbe. Anyway, he's with us for a while. Here." And Malfoy began a round of introductions to other students, both male and female, taking their seats nearby at the table. Harry heard many familiar names and realized of course he would. If they were Slytherins, they were probably all pure-bloods, right? And those same families would be around in his day. Harry lost track of the names after a while and just concentrated on eating.

The food was, unsurprisingly, also the same. He remembered Dumbledore once telling him that Kreacher had served the Black family for 700 years. The same house elves who prepared the meal tonight were probably still there in his day, too. 

"Be right back," Malfoy said into his ear, and strode off toward the head table, leaving Harry in conversation with a girl whose name he had forgotten.

"I heard about your appearance in Potions," she said. "A bit confused were you?"

"Oh, er, yeah. They kind of dropped me in all of a sudden, and you know, the teachers hadn't been told or anything. The Headmaster cleared it all up, though."

"Gullwing can be really particular. Merlin knows what she would have done if Malfoy hadn't needed a partner."

"What happened to his partner?" Harry asked, thinking of some kind of cauldron accident.

"Oh. He used to sit with Regulus Black. But Reg, you know, his grandfather got all bent out of shape about them and sent Reg away last week."

"He what?"

"We all thought Draco would be the one expelled, but his family's got connections, you know?"

"I know."

"So in the end, it's Reg who had to go. They say it's only temporary, though. For his health. He should be back by Christmas." She then fixed Harry with a cool stare. "You've forgotten my name, haven't you?"

"Um, well, yes, actually," Harry admitted with a sheepish smile. "Wait, let me guess..." He screwed up his face as if thinking very hard. "Nope, sorry, no idea."

"It's Heather," she said, then. She had reddish brown hair that curled aristocratically below her ears and deep brown eyes. "So if I may ask, how did you get that scar?"

"Oh, er," Think fast, Harry told himself. "Quidditch accident." Where was Malfoy? It'd be helpful to have someone else deflect the questions, Harry thought.

Heather pushed his hair aside a little. "Really? I wouldn't think a bludger would leave a gash like that."

"Oh, it was, er..." He knew if the lie didn't have a little truth in it, it would come off sounding completely false. But he couldn't tell her the truth about the scar, could he? Not with the geas on him. "I was seeker for my house team, and we had one terrible match, terrible rainstorm, thunder, lightning, and the rival seeker..." An image of the Draco Malfoy he knew, bearing down on him on a broom came to mind. "...ran me right into the reviewing stand. I went right through a wooden beam."

"No!" She grabbed lightly onto his arm. "Were you hurt badly?"

"No, not really."

"But you kept the scar."

"Um, yeah..."

"Well it is, rather... dashing!" Heather said. At that she giggled, and it suddenly occurred to Harry that she had been flirting. A blush crept up his cheeks. 

"Oh, well, I uh..."

Malfoy to the rescue. He threw himself down on the bench between Harry and Heather, with his legs in the aisle. "It's all settled, Potter."

"What's all settled?"

"Come on, let's get down to the Common Room." With that he was off toward the doors, and Harry followed, waving goodbye to Heather as he went.

"I fixed it with LeStrange that you're to room with me," Malfoy said as his quick strides took him across the entrance hall to the stairs down to the dungeon. "That is, uh, assuming you want to."

Harry was a bit taken aback by the fact that Malfoy would just assume responsibility for him that way. But really, what else could he do? Sleep in the hospital wing? "You don't mind? That would be great."

"I don't mind at all. I've got more room than anyone, anyway, and I'd rather pick my own roommate if I have to have one." He paused on the stairs to flick a glance back at Harry. "All right?"

"Yeah, of course, Malfoy," Harry said, wondering why Malfoy was being so tentative all of a sudden. Because he wants to make sure you like him. Harry almost heard Hermione's voice saying it. He wanted to reassure him that he wasn't a false friend. Maybe that's what happens when all your friends are Slytherins, Harry thought.

Malfoy walked him through the labyrinth of corridors that lead to the Common Room door, which was spelled to look like any other section of blank dungeon wall. "We have the best guarded doorway in the castle," Malfoy explained and then spoke the password.

When they reached Malfoy's own door, he placed Harry's hand on the handle and then took out his wand. "Here we go." He tapped Harry on the back of the hand with his wand and a flare of blue light passed through him and into the handle. "Just say 'dragon's blood' and the door will open."

"Dragon's blood," Harry intoned, and the latch clicked under his palm. The door swung inward. 

A house elf was just fluffing the pillows on another four-poster by the bookshelves which the castle elves must have put there, Harry surmised. It gasped when the door opened, and disappeared the way house elves do. On the bed Harry was amused to find additional uniform clothes folded neatly, extra shirts, socks, pants, even bright green silk boxer shorts. "All the comforts of home?" he said bemusedly while holding up a pair to see if they looked like they might fit.

"Where did they get those?" Malfoy wondered. "They'll make you look like a leprechaun. Though they do match your eyes." He sauntered over and tapped the pile with his wand. The green deepened to more of a forest green. "That's better. Now where are you going to keep them?" He looked around the room, then pulled a small trunk out from under his own bed. He opened it, tossed a few papers from it into the fireplace, and then brought it over to Harry. "Here you go, spare trunk. It's a bit small, but you haven't got much stuff yet."

"Thanks," Harry said, and placed the folded clothes into it. The wood smelled sweet, like some forest herb. He latched it and put it under his own bed. It suddenly seemed real that he might be here for a while. He pulled off his Slytherin tie and said "Wow, what a day."

"No rest for the wicked," Malfoy replied. "Now, come on. I want a good seat in the Common Room."

Harry had thought, momentarily, that Malfoy had wanted a seat that would be good for studying in. But the Slytherin Common Room was a bit less studious and a bit more focused on other things than Harry was used to. And Malfoy, it was clear, was the monarch of the group. His "good seat" was a throne-like chair by the fireplace, and they needn't have hurried since no one else would dare to sit in it. Harry sat on Malfoy's right, while the room filled up.

There was a definite pecking order among the Slytherins, Harry realized while watching them interact. The first and second years, it seemed, hadn't even yet earned the right to sit in the Common Room. They mostly seemed to just greet the older students and then hurry off to their rooms. The third years hung around the edges a bit more. The fourth years, some of them, joined in the discussion taking place in the sunken pit lined with padded benches and chairs at the center of the room. The rest were fifth and sixth years, ringed by the seventh years like Malfoy. 

Malfoy clapped his hands and the room fell silent. "It's time for a game of Truth or Dare. Who's playing?"

Some were eager to play, others, Harry saw, mostly the younger ones, were cajoled into it by the seventh years. Those playing vied for seats in the pit, while those watching settled on the steps and in chairs up higher. 

"And how about you, Potter?" Heather was there, in one of the upper chairs. "You're new here, shouldn't you play?"

"Oh, I uh, don't know the rules."

"Come on, I'll play if you play," she said, throwing a glance at Malfoy. "All right?"

"It's all right, Potter," Malfoy said, though he was looking at Heather as he said it. "We don't usually have to send anyone to the hospital wing..." A chorus of knowing chuckles came at that. "And Whittington here won't bite." He indicated Heather with a small salute. 

"Unless you ask her nicely!" someone shouted from the back, causing another cascade of laughter. Harry and Heather made their way to lower seats. 

Malfoy sat forward, one arm resting on one knee. "Now, the rules, since we have a game virgin here..." There were whistles. Malfoy drew what looked like a compass out of his robes. "It's quite simple. You must either tell the truth, or agree to a dare. If you lie, the detector will know it, and then you must submit to a dare anyway. Tell the truth, or complete your dare successfully, and you get to ask the next question. I, of course, go first."

He then spun the detector in his fingers and let it go. It landed on the low table in the center of the pit, glowing and humming softly. "I'll start with... Whittington."

Heather looked up, one eyebrow raised. 

"Truth or dare, did that Ravenclaw Seeker put his hand down your robes behind the broomshed after that match last year?" Malfoy's eyes were half-lidded as he said it. 

She hesitated, thinking about what he had said. Harry could almost see her trying to come up with a way that it might not be true, though it was only a few moments before she said "True, and then I decked him with his own broom!"

The detector glowed green with approval. "My turn, then. Right back at you Malfoy."

He spread his hands as if he expected no less.

"Speaking of last year, what were you and Reg Black doing the night you got caught on the Astronomy Tower?"

The room went silent and Harry glanced around nervously. But Malfoy smiled. "We went up there with some charmed banners. It was our match against Hufflepuff the next day, remember? These banners were going to unfurl as soon as they scored a goal, with a giant picture of their keeper doing... unspeakable things with his broom. Well, as you know, they never scored in the match the next day as the snitch was caught within the first five minutes, so no one got to see the banners."

The detector glowed green again and Heather sat back with a slight glower on her face. Malfoy then asked a question of a fourth year boy, and on the game went. No one else asked Malfoy a question, Harry noticed, and Heather would not meet his eyes. The game did come back around to Heather, though, when Crabbe asked her to name the man she was most attracted to in the room.

"Ha, please," she said. "Boring question and no one has taken a dare yet. I'll take a dare."

"All right, fine," Crabbe said, pausing to think. He clearly had thought she was going to answer and hadn't decided ahead of time on what to ask her to do. He glanced at Malfoy, who was looking at him passively, his eyes half-lidded. "Kiss Potter."

"What?" Harry said, startled. He looked at Malfoy, who merely shrugged. Apparently it was within the rules of the game to participate in other's dares. 

Heather turned to him, half a smile on her face. She took him by the chin, drew his face close to hers, and then brushed her lips along his. He had one brief, sharp intake of breath, and then she crushed her lips to his, one hand twined around the back of his neck. It was neither sloppy nor fumbling, and Harry felt that Heather knew what she was doing. When she broke away, he blinked, feeling suddenly bereft. There were cheers and catcalls, and he knew his face was bright red. His lips felt swollen and he realized he was panting slightly.

"My turn," Heather said. "So, Malfoy..."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, as if it were bad form for her to go after him twice in a row.

"What else did you do with Reg Black when you were up on the tower that night?"

Malfoy looked her straight in the eye. "You're beautiful when you're jealous."

"Just answer the question."

He rubbed his chin as if thinking it over. "You know, I think I'll lead you on a little longer on that one, Whittington. I'll take a dare, instead."

Now there were low cries of "ooo" and "whoa." Heather smiled and said without hesitation: "Fine. Kiss Potter." The "ooos" increased in volume. 

"What do you take me for, a coward? Potter, come here."

Harry, though, seemed frozen in his seat. He was going to kiss Malfoy now? "Uh..."

Malfoy huffed in irritation, and slipped easily down to the padded bench where Harry sat next to Heather, putting himself between them. He slid one hand around the back of Harry's neck as Heather had, then ran the other down Harry's sternum. He leaned forward and whispered into Harry's ear, so only Harry could hear--"It's just a game"--and then, as with Heather, he brushed his lips along Harry's. 

Harry's breath caught again, but the expected kiss did not come, yet. Another brush, another pass, and the feel of Malfoy's breath playing over his skin--he was dizzy. Why was Malfoy holding back? Their lips were barely touching, Malfoy's moving infinitesimally, as if he were mouthing a silent incantation. The bare contact of his warm tongue. And then, his hand strayed from Harry's breastbone to brush through Harry's shirt over one nipple. Harry moaned as just then Malfoy pulled back, amid whistles and cheers.

He knew his cheeks were aflame, but he supposed this was the Slytherin way, embarassing one another. It was just a game, wasn't that what Malfoy said? He tried to smile; he knew he had to show it was all right, that he could take it. But his lips were tingling with the phantom kiss Malfoy had not quite given him.

"My turn," Malfoy said, returning to his seat. "Crabbe. Who do you think about when you wank?"

Crabbe leered at Heather. "Whittington, of course." The detector glowed green and Heather gave him a disgusted look. "So, Whittington," he then said.

She threw up her hands. "What?"

"Tell us... tell us whether you're, well..."

"Come on, Crabbe, spit it out," she prompted.

He thought for a moment more. "Have you ever, that is, haven't you... uh..."

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Crabbe," she finally said. "Let's just save some time and I'll just take a dare, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Give Potter a hickey. A big one."

"Are you sure about that, Crabbe? Sure you don't want one yourself?" Whittington licked her lips lasciviously.

"Oh, uh, I like to watch," he said, blushing and causing a spate of laughter to ring through the room. 

"Suit yourself," she said, and locked eyes with Harry. "Let me unbutton your shirt a little so I can put it somewhere people won't see it tomorrow."

"Uh, okay," Harry said, even as his brain was seizing up under the strain. That seemed like a good idea, didn't it.

Heather undid the three buttons, then pushed him onto his back, her lips running along his collarbone toward his shoulder. She settled on a spot on top of his shoulder, almost at the base of his neck but a little further out where it would be hidden once his shirt was pulled back into place. She licked it, her tongue warm and muscular. Then she clamped her lips over the spot and began to suck.

Harry couldn't help it, he gripped her back with his hands, the sensation coursing through him intense. It was pleasure and pain both, not quite like anything he had ever done before. He and Ginny had snogged a bit, of course, but they'd had little privacy in the short time they'd been together, and she had never done this. The feeling intensified the longer it went on, and Harry struggled not to moan aloud again. He threw his head back, mouth open but silent, eyes closed tight, amazed that the sensation seemed to travel through his whole body.

Then she broke away, to general cheers, and Harry rubbed at the spot where she had been sucking. A raised welt was there now, it felt bruised and raw and sensitive all at once. Just running his fingers over the spot made Harry's hair stand on end. 

"My turn," said Heather, smoothing her hair back so her curls trailed from her ears again. "Potter."

"Yes?" He sat up then, feeling a bit dazed.

"So who in this room would you sleep with? If you had your choice of anyone?"

"Er, uh," he looked around the room, and yet found he couldn't distinguish faces as his eyes swept back and forth. "I don't really know any of you well enough to say yet." 

The detector glowed red at that, and seemed to shake angrily as it spun on is axis. 

"The detector doesn't accept that answer," she said, pointing to it. "Which means I get to dare you."

Harry sat silently, waiting to see what she would make him do. Was he going to have to give her a hickey next?

"Strip to your waist," she said, settling back into her seat. "I want to see the fruits of my labor."

Harry's hands shook a little. He was used to being the center of attention for various reasons, good and bad, but Gryffindors didn't play games like this, at least not in his time. He slid his robe from his shoulders, untucked his shirt and unbuttoned it the rest of the way, then let that fall behind him, too. He could feel the currents of cool air mixing with the warmth of the fireplace on his bare skin and suppressed a shiver.

"Go on, Harry, it's your turn now," Malfoy prompted, after Harry had sat there for a moment. 

"Oh, right." Harry looked around. Now, what would a Slytherin do here? He didn't know any of them enough to know what to ask and what not to ask. He didn't want to make any enemies on his first day if he could help it, but he didn't want to come off as too naïve or vulnerable. He wracked his brains. Come on, there must be something sneaky you can think of. What he really wanted to know, of course, was what the story was between Malfoy and Whittington, and where Regulus Black fit in, but there didn't seem to be a way to ask a direct question about that. He also felt it would be frowned on to pick on anyone whose name he didn't know.

He turned to Malfoy, unable to keep a grin off his face as he asked, "So, when you learned to wank, which did you learn first, the cleaning charm, or the silencing charm?"

Malfoy chuckled. "The silencing charm. I'm loud." He smiled back and there were laughs around the room. "All right, Parkinson. You haven't answered one yet."

The mousy fifth year girl truthfully answered Malfoy's question about whom she had kissed, and then she turned to Harry. "How far did you get with your girlfriend in Lichtenstein?"

Harry wrapped his mind around that one. Since he hadn't been to Lichteinstein, did that negate the question? Should he answer it as if Ginny were the girl? He opened his mouth to try to answer it, thinking of Ginny, but no sound came out--it was as if there were no air around his head. He could not breathe. He had a moment of panic and then realized: the geas. It had to be the geas trying to keep him from saying anything about the future. He stopped trying to answer and said "I better take a dare, then."

She opened her eyes wide, and glanced at Malfoy, who seemed to be staring resolutely at the detector. "Um, um, can I kiss you, too?"

"It's your dare..." he started to say, but she launched herself at him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. She felt remarkably similar to Ginny, Harry realized, slender and soft, but with a very firm mouth. She broke away after a few seconds. 

"All right, children," Malfoy said. "I think that's enough for one night." Moans of disapproval. "Don't you have studying to do? I want that house cup again so get cracking." The students began to disperse; their monarch had spoken.

Draco then walked up to Harry and picked up the white shirt from where it had been knocked to the floor. "You should thank me," he said quietly as he handed it to Harry. "The whole pack of wolves was going to be after you, couldn't you tell?"

"Uh, yeah," Harry agreed, slinging one arm through the sleeve. Though it was you who threw me to them in the first place, he thought. Still, compared to what he was used to enduring from his contemporary Slytherins, Malfoy's actions didn't feel malicious. These Slytherins on the whole seemed a bit more occupied with sex than Harry would have expected, but well... he wondered, not for the first time, what his life might have been like if his prime concern hadn't always been saving the world from Voldemort.

"Come on, Potter, butterbeer awaits." Malfoy signaled to Crabbe to come along, too. Heather had already moved to strike up a conversation with some other girls. Harry gathered up his robe and followed Malfoy while still getting his shirt back on.

Once inside Malfoy's room, the blond popped open three bottles and invited them to sit at the table. "Well done, Potter," he said. "But you know I wasn't kidding there at the end. Those predators, once they smell fresh meat, well... who knows what compromising situations you might have gotten yourself into."

Crabbe took a swig. "That was fun, Draco. Been a while since we did that."

"I know." Malfoy seemed more relaxed, here with just the two of them. The arrogance softened and his voice lost the forced cheerfulness it had with the larger group. And what would have come out snide from the Draco Harry knew came out almost concerned: "Was it too much for you, Potter?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, taking a drink. "I'm just not used to being the center of attention, is all." He smirked inwardly at the lie, feeling rather Slytherin about it. But in this world, the world of 1926, he wasn't the Boy Who Lived, he wasn't destined to face Voldemort, he wasn't followed by the tabloid press, or hounded for autographs by first years. Here, he was just a 17-year-old in his final year of school.

They sat companionably drinking butterbeer and making remarks about teachers and Quidditch, until Crabbe said, "You know, I miss Reg."

"I do, too," Malfoy answered, standing up abruptly. "Well, I think it's time to call it a night, eh, fellows?"

"Oh, right. Good night," Crabbe said, and walked out.

Malfoy closed the door behind him. "Hector's a good man," he said. "Loyal, like a dog. I've known him since we were little. But he can be a bit thick, sometimes."

"You don't say," Harry replied. "Thanks again for the drink, Malfoy."

"You know," Malfoy said, crossing back to sit on his bed and kick his shoes off. "You ought to call me Draco. We're roomies now, after all. And besides, every time you say 'Malfoy' you sound like you're spitting out something bitter."

"I do?"

"You do." Draco pulled his wand out of his robe and flicked it. A door that Harry had assumed led to a closet opened. "I forgot to tell you. Best thing about this room by far. Private washroom. You want to go ahead? There's soap, everything's in there. Go on."

"Er, all right." Harry went ahead into the little room, which had ornate fixtures and a deep claw-footed tub. He closed the door, splashed water on his face and looked in the mirror. What an intensely weird day. He touched his lips lightly with his fingers, and found himself re-living the not-quite-kiss with Malfoy. He blinked. Definitely an intensely weird day.

He emerged a short while later and Malfoy went into the bathroom. Harry poked through the trunk of clothes the house elves had brought. No dressing gown. Ah well. Harry got into his own bed in nothing but his briefs--he didn't want to sleep in his dress shirt. The dungeon room was warm enough, warmer than the tower, actually, which was prone to drafts. He started to pull his curtains closed, when he heard Malfoy's voice from the doorway.

"By the way, another thing, I've spelled the curtains already with a silencing charm." When Harry did not reply immediately, he went on. "In case you like every morning to be like this morning."

"Um, thanks," Harry said, blushing just a little and smiling. "Good night."

"Good night."

At that he finished closing the curtains. His lips were tingling and he rubbed his fingers over the welt Heather had made. But the sound of running water--Draco was running a bath--soothed him, and he dropped into a deep sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

By Monday of the next week, Harry had settled into his routine--classes, meals, homework, exactly as he might have done in 1997 without the threat of Voldemort. Every now and then he would catch himself wondering what Hermione and Ron were doing. Did they miss him? What was happening with the Order and the Death Eaters now? Then he would remember that he had traveled back in time and if he could be returned close to when he left, no one would even know he had been gone. But then there was the fact that if they didn't find a way to return him, then he would be gone, and therefore be missed, but then surely someone like Hermione would start working on the problem and find a way to bring him back... except if he came back then... his head hurt just thinking about it. It was easier, he decided, to think of this as a sort of very realistic dream.

A dream in which he went to classes and was a Slytherin. He wasn't surprised to find he was a hit in Defensive Magic (which hadn't yet been re-named Defense Against the Dark Arts) and that the curriculum in Transfiguration was largely the same as what he knew. He continued to be bored in History of Magic, and they carried on with the analysis and comparison of various aphrodisiac potions in Professor Gullwing's class. It was a different approach to potions than what he was used to, and Harry found it actually stuck in his brain a bit better than he thought it would. 

And then there were nights in the Common Room with the Slytherins. Malfoy had not suggested Truth or Dare again, but they had a seemingly unending appetite for activities with which to titillate or humiliate one another, or take one another's money. After that first night, Harry did not seem to be as much of a target, but he mostly just watched from the edges. He was confused at first, about why they would play such games, but eventually he realized that they did have a point. The group was quite tight knit, they knew each other well, and the mild abuse fostered a sense of belonging. 

The only one who didn't seem to be as close to others was Malfoy himself. The prince, Harry realized. The one above. And Harry himself, by association. He wondered what would happen if he interacted with the others more. Would that somehow be leaving Draco alone? 

That wasn't actually what he was thinking about when Crabbe convinced him to try his hand at a game that night. "C'mon, Potter," he said. "You're good at charms, you should be good at this."

A round table stood in the center of the sunken area of the Common Room. On it sat a golden goblet ringed by a dozen or so Galleons. "Go on," Crabbe urged. "You have to put a Galleon down to play. We need thirteen, you know."

Harry didn't know why thirteen would be a significant number, but he did have some Galleons in his pocket--though it occurred to him that with his Gringott's vault seven decades in the future, he didn't have much money here in 1926. But he had already agreed to play, so he put one on the table. Malfoy took his usual seat, his eyes blazing with interest.

The game, Harry quickly realized, was played by two people at a time. The goal was to charm as many Galleons into the goblet as possible in twenty seconds or so--the goblet itself was charmed to keep the time, flaring bright red when the time was up. The first two to go were two fifth year girls, each flicking her wand repeatedly and running around the table--because of course the Galleons themselves were charmed to roll in circles around and around. They were both giggling, and tripping over themselves, as they circled the table, flipping the coins too high, over the cup, hitting the rim, and sometimes getting one in with a golden "ping!"

"Time's up!" Crabbe called, when the goblet flared. "Anisette, you lose." The girl stamped her foot, but bent over, her arms cradling her head on the edge of the table. The other girl stepped up and spanked her, five times on each cheek. Harry had to fight not to let his mouth gape open at that. Anisette flounced away, giggling, when it was done.

The next challenger, a lanky sixth year named Timothy Frost, stepped up, and Harry realized that the Galleons on the table, one for each of them, were somehow determining who went next. He wondered what Professor Flitwick would have thought of all the complex charms it took to make this game work. Wingardium Leviosa was one of the first charms Harry had ever learned, but could he cast it on a rolling Galleon and get it on target?

He would find out soon enough. When it was his turn, he faced Crabbe himself, who had just beaten four others in a row. Harry didn't relish the thought of being spanked by Crabbe, and his competitive spirit didn't relish losing in any case. The cup flared green, the signal to go, and Harry pointed his wand at the Galleon passing nearest him. Up it went, spinning in the air but traveling in a neat arc, right into the cup. Ping! But Crabbe had one fall in right after. They did not race around the table like the girls, but took careful, stalking steps, timing their wand flicks as the Galleons did the racing, ping! ping! ping! one coin after the other flipping into the goblet. Students watching were shouting encouragement and unbelievably Harry saw they were running out of Galleons. 

The last one was rolling erratically, zigzagging as it went, and they each stabbed at it unsuccessfully as it made its way around the table. Harry wasn't sure but he thought it might be speeding up as time went on. Surely there could only be a few seconds left in the round... Harry twisted his wrist and--flip!--the coin went straight up into the air. He cast a silent levitation charm then, and caught it magically as it came down, lowering it gently into the goblet.

"Blast it!" Crabbe said, but he was smiling as he braced himself against the table. "Almost had it, too!"

Harry stepped over to Crabbe, realizing that now he had to administer the licking. He was right handed, so he supposed he ought to use his right, but he felt like he ought to do something with the other hand. He slipped his wand into his back pocket, placed his left on the small of Crabbe's back, and then wound up for the first smack.

It landed squarely on Crabbe's right butt cheek, surprising Harry twice. Once, for how loud it was despite the cloth of Crabbe's pants, and twice for how much Harry's own hand smarted. "Ow!' he said in spite of himself.

"Iron arse!" someone shouted at Crabbe, who grinned.

Harry gave him a smack on the other side and winced. After two more, though, he began to think like a Slytherin. He delivered the final four blows not with his hand, but with his wand. Crabbe howled in surprise and rubbed the sore spot as he straightened up.

"Ooh, Potter! That smarts!"

Harry shrugged innocently. 

The next three challengers did not need to be wanded--though they all lost, none of them had quite as tough a hide as Crabbe. And in the end, no one had beaten Harry.

"Well done, mate," Crabbe said, handing him the thirteen Galleons. "Anyone else want to have a go at our new flipping champion? How about you, Frost, another round?"

Timothy waved a hand. "I've had enough."

"I'll have a go." All eyes in the room turned toward the fireplace, where Malfoy was lounging across the arms of his chair. He stood languidly, pulling his wand from inside his robe and then shrugging the robe off. His hair reflected the firelight as he drew it back and tied it with a ribbon, then stepped down to the table. He put down a Galleon.

Harry reached into his pocket for one, but Crabbe stopped him. "Just the one." He started it rolling with a flick of his wand, then added a second flick--the coin now zoomed around the table, making loops and skipping occasionally. "Go!"

Harry snared it quickly, depositing it into the cup with a resounding ring. 

Malfoy threw up his hands in mock theatrics. "Best two out of three!" he cried, tossing another coin onto the table.

Crabbe shook a finger at him. "Potter can take your challenge, of course, but you still have to take your licks for that round."

Malfoy sighed and bent over, his hands gripping the table's edge and his hair hanging over one shoulder. "Make it good, Potter," he said with a laugh.

"How's this?" Harry pulled his hand back as far as it would go, and then swung with his whole hip and shoulder. Malfoy merely grunted. Harry gave him as good as he could, but Malfoy yawned with feigned boredom, until it was over. 

"Rematch," Malfoy said, then, spinning his wand in his fingers. Crabbe started the galleon on its orbit, and the two young wizards tracked it, waiting for the signal. The light flashed, and their wands went to work, but it seemed as if the coin knew when to zig and when to zag. 

Suddenly it moved directly toward Harry, who moved his wand in a scooping motion, and up the coin rose. Up and up, to Harry's eye level, and then he turned toward the goblet. But the coin did not move with his wand. Malfoy had his wand trained on it as well, and a magical tug of war began to take place. Harry put two hands on his wand, but Malfoy's charm was too strong. Harry lost his magical grip on it, and it went spinning in front of Malfoy's face. The look of wicked delight in his eyes reminded Harry of someone--oh, of course it did. Malfoy dropped the coin into the cup with spiral flourish of his wand and then looked up.

Harry felt as if that look went right through him. In his triumph, Malfoy looked predatory, hungry. Harry moved toward the table to put his hands down, but Malfoy gripped him around one wrist, and pulled him down onto a bench. Harry fell across his lap, and before he could set himself, the first blow fell. It wasn't overly hard, Harry realized with a jolt, but the spank pressed his crotch into Draco's thigh. And then with each spank that followed, Harry felt himself harden. It was over with much too quickly, and Harry realized he was lying there panting while Malfoy waited for him to get up.

He got to his feet somewhat shakily. "What about the tie-breaker?" he said. "Who antes up for that one?"

Malfoy's answer was to pull another coin from his pocket and to flip it in the air with his hand. It spun end over end and he caught it, then set it on the table where it began to roll. 

Harry half expected that this would be a trick Galleon, one only Malfoy could catch--but maybe that would have been the other Draco. This time, to Harry's surprise, he snared it on the second time around the table, and lifted it up. Malfoy caught, too, though, and again the each tried to will the coin for themselves. Harry saw sweat break out on Malfoy's brow as the struggle went on. Then suddenly the coin came flying toward Harry, who caught it in his hand and flicked it manually into the goblet.

"I am bested," Malfoy said, and dropped to one knee to hold up his wand, like a sea captain offering up his sword. His eyes were daring Harry to take the wand. 

"Bend over," Harry said, picking up the wand in his right hand. The wand was as pale as Draco's skin, probably ash or willow, and it swished as it sliced the air. Draco positioned himself against the table and Harry let fly. He heard an intake of breath, but still no yelp or cry. Indeed, the breaths became sharper and faster, but no matter how hard he swung his arm, the other boy did not cry out.

When Malfoy straightened, his face was flushed and his eyes bright. "All hail, Harry Potter, flipping champion," Draco said in a quiet but commanding voice. He took Harry's hand in his and pumped it once. "Well done, Harry."

"Thanks."

"Now, what do you say we get started on that essay for Transfiguration?" Malfoy yawned, showing his teeth. 

"It's not due until Thursday, but, well, probably a good idea, yeah," Harry said. Another group was forming up around the table for another round, and they moved out of the way. "Say, where's Heather tonight?" Harry asked, just realizing that she wasn't there.

"Detention," Malfoy answered. "With LeStrange! I tell you, she only took Arithmancy because she wanted to suck up to him, head of house and all that. And now look where it's got her."

They went into their room and shut the door. Harry dragged out a few pieces of parchment and his quill and sat down at the table. He was surprised when Malfoy sat down across from him, though, empty handed and slouching in the chair. He was about to say "I thought you wanted to work on the essay?" when the sneaky little voice in his head he was coming to think of as his inner Slytherin said: isn't it obvious that's not the case anymore? 

So instead he said "Draco? Are you all right?"

"You know, I miss Reg." He ran his hand through his flaxen hair, shaking it out and letting the ribbon fall to the floor.

"He was your best mate," Harry said. "Of course you miss him."

"Who do you miss?"

"From my time?" He found himself unable to say Ron or Hermione's names, the geas closing his throat. "Whoa," he said as soon as he stopped trying.

"Was that the geas?" Draco moved into the chair next to Harry. "What does it do?"

"It kind of chokes me," Harry said. "Like the air all disappears and my throat won't open to let in more."

Draco frowned. "Sounds nasty. They must be really serious to put something like that on you. I wonder what you can say? Like, can you just answer yes or no? Let's try it. Are you missing your friends?"

Harry found he could nod yes with no ill effects. 

"How about your girlfriend?"

No.

"You don't miss her?"

A more emphatic shake.

"You don't even have one?"

Yes.

"Harry, I find that hard to believe. The girls here are already swooning over you, what with your 'emerald eyes' and Defense prowess. Accio butterbeer." He handed a bottle to Harry and then opened one for himself. "I can't believe you don't have them lined up out the door."

"I've been busy with other priorities," Harry said. Apparently the geas was satisfied with generalities like that, as Harry got the whole sentence out without choking. No way he could say anything about Voldemort directly. He felt a pang of worry--what was happening there? Had the war begun in earnest? No wait, time might not have even moved forward yet... he pushed the thoughts aside. "Not much of a love life, really."

"Well, tell me who you want to be fixed up with here." He took a long swig of butterbeer, his eyes on Harry all at time. "Heather come on too strong for you? What about Anisette? She's quite fetching."

Harry couldn't help but blush, talking about girls like they were models of brooms or something. "I don't think... I mean, I don't know. I don't think either one is my type."

"And what is your type?"

"I guess I don't know really. I figure I'll know it when I see it, though." Harry shrugged and decided since he had just said something about himself, perhaps now was the time to ask Draco something he had been meaning to. "So, what is it between you and Heather, anyway?"

"Oh, it's not like that, if that's what you mean."

"She just seems sort of jealous. I thought maybe you had broken up with her or something and she was taking it badly."

"As I said, it's not like that." Draco stood up and began to pace, running the edge of the bottle of butterbeer along his bottom lip. "She was interested in Reg, actually."

"And she blames you for getting him kicked out of school?"

Draco neither confirmed nor denied that. "I don't know why she acts the way she does." He took a swig and then pulled the bottle away from his mouth with a pop. "I'm sure she likes you, though."

"Um..."

"And heck, you've kissed her already."

"Yeah." But the kiss that Harry found himself replaying in his mind wasn't Heather Whittingon's, but Draco Malfoy's. He suppressed a shiver, remembering the spanking of earlier, too. It was weird, and yet he knew the rules here were different than what he was used to. "I never realized Slytherins were such... um, sensualists," he said then, to have something to say.

"I told you, Slytherins make the best lovers." The words hung in the air for a moment, but then Draco finished the bottle and vanished it. "Oh, so, you made some money tonight, I see."

Harry wondered at the sudden change of direction in the conversation, took a sip out of his own bottle and then set it on the table. "A good thing, too, I suppose, since I haven't really got much."

Malfoy stepped over and leaned both hands on the table. "Don't you dare offer to pay me for anything."

"Well, I just thought..."

"No. I won't take it." He drew himself up to his full height. "In fact, I'll be insulted if you try to give me any of it. But you know what you might want to do? Save up to buy a broom."

"A broom?"

"Didn't Heather tell you at lunch today? Quidditch tryouts are Saturday. When you told her you were a Seeker, were you just having her on? Or were you serious?" The moment of brooding he'd had over missing Regulus Black had passed, Harry noticed, and his face was bright and animated.

"Serious," was all Harry could get out before the geas began to strangle him. "I'll just have to show you."

"Well, you're well on your way to a fine flying broom with tonight's haul."

"Are you kidding me?" Harry tried to remember the prices he had last seen on brooms. "I've only got maybe a tenth what I need for a halfway decent one."

Malfoy was laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"My father had me work at Gringotts last summer, to learn about money. Have you ever heard of inflation?" He came around to Harry's side of the table.

"Oh." Harry smiled. "You mean thirteen galleons is worth a lot more today than in my day."

Malfoy nodded. "Slytherins play for high stakes," he said, standing directly behind Harry. "May I ask you something?"

"Sure, go ahead," Harry replied, twisting in his seat so he could see Malfoy's face. 

But at that moment there was a knock at the door. Malfoy stalked over to it and yanked it open.

Heather stood there, her schoolbooks still in her arms. "LeStrange wants to see you."

"Now? At this hour?"

She nodded. "Sent me to tell you right away. He's in his office." With that, she turned on her heel and left. 

Malfoy looked back at Harry. "Duty calls. I guess... I'll have to start that essay tomorrow. See you later." He shut the door behind him, leaving Harry alone in the room.

Hours later, Harry had made a start on the essay, and done all his reading as well, but Malfoy had not returned. Close to midnight, Harry climbed into bed, wondering what Malfoy might be doing. He fell asleep not knowing.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry woke up the next morning to the light of the charmed "windows," which usually showed a sunny morning regardless of the actual weather, and sleepily began his morning wank. He came quickly, silently, biting his pillow out of habit. Then he remembered, Malfoy's silencing curtains, 1926. 

He pushed the curtains aside to find Draco had returned. He was asleep, his bedcurtains open; he was still in his clothes and only halfway under the coverlet. 

"Malfoy, time to get up," Harry said, as he climbed out of his own bed. "Draco?"

He padded in his bare feet over to the bed, and shook Malfoy on the shoulder. On the second shake, Malfoy lashed out but Harry stepped back quickly. Malfoy sat up suddenly then, staring at Harry for a moment as if he didn't recognize him. 

"Draco, are you okay?"

The other boy winced then and rubbed his forehead. "Is it time to get up?"

Harry cast a quick time charm. "Yes. What happened to you last night?"

"What do you mean?"

"You went off to have a meeting with LeStrange and you didn't come back until very late."

Draco thought about it. "I don't remember anything about it."

"Do you remember Heather coming to the door? She had detention, remember?"

"That sounds familiar, but..." He rubbed his eyes. "The way my head feels, I must have gotten to drinking Firewhisky or something. Sorry to make you worry, Harry."

"You're sure you're all right?"

"I will be," Draco said, and then looked down at himself. "That must have been quite a binge I was on. I've still got my clothes on."

They went down to breakfast together and the conversation turned to Quidditch.

"You're trying out for Seeker then, are you Harry?" Crabbe asked. "Ever since Maddox left, we've been looking for a good flyer."

"Do you play?" Harry asked Crabbe.

"Beater," Crabbe said with a thumb to his chest. Somehow Harry wasn't surprised. 

"What about you, Malfoy?"

"I was a Chaser for a while, but my father insisted I quit after I broke my arm fifth year." He looked glum about it. "Of course, the fact that I was failing Divination might have had something to do with it, too."

"I hate Divination," Harry said then. "Total crap subject."

"The teacher was always predicting my death in some horrible manner," Malfoy said. "It's no wonder I could never concentrate in class. What's so funny?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh, of course, his own experience with the subject being so similar. "So young, so tragic!" he cried in his best Trelawney voice, throwing a hand on Malfoy's shoulder. "My dear boy, can't you see you are doomed? Doomed, I tell you!"

Malfoy laughed, so did Crabbe. They were practically falling over one another. But Harry's laugh was suddenly cut short by a sharp cuff on the back of his head.

"H-Headmaster?" Crabbe stuttered.

"Gentlemen," Phineas Black intoned. "I suggest you comport yourselves in a manner more befitting the noble house of Slytherin."

"Y-yes sir." Harry waited until Black had turned away before he rubbed the spot on his head where the clout had landed. "What's his problem?"

But Malfoy did not answer. With a dark look in his eye, he slung his book bag onto his shoulder and walked out of the hall. 

Harry hurried to gather up his own bag, mumbled a goodbye to Crabbe, and rushed after him. But when he reached the entrance hall, there was no sign of Malfoy. Had he gone ahead to Potions? Today was their double section. Harry headed for the dungeon stairs, padding down them quickly. At the bottom, the long corridor was empty.

Harry walked at usual speed to the potions classroom, and was a bit surprised to see Draco was not there, either. The door was open, Professor Gullwing seated at her desk looking over a pile of parchments with a quill poised in her hand. She glanced up, saw it was Harry, and turned back to her marking. 

Harry slid into his now-customary seat and took out his notebook and a quill. If Draco did not appear in time for class, Harry would be without a book, and considering what happened the last time he borrowed a potions book from the room, he didn't want to again. Why did I chase after him, anyway? he thought to himself. What was I going to say?

But Malfoy slipped into his seat just moments before Gullwing closed the door. He seemed unperturbed, laying out his materials with deliberate movements, and pulling his hair back into a pony tail without looking up. Harry recognized the forced blank calm, though. He'd used it enough times himself to mask his anger.

That anger came to the surface when Heather, her prefect's badge seeming aggressively silver in the dim dungeon, appeared at the door. She had a scroll in her hand, which she presented to Professor Gullwing, and then stood waiting. 

"Mr. Potter," Professor Gullwing said. "It would appear you are being transferred out of this class into Theory of Magic."

"Theory of Magic?" Harry repeated, even as he felt Malfoy clutch at the edge of his robe under the worktable. 

"Yes, per order of the Headmaster. Miss Whittington will accompany you to the classroom."

"Now?" Harry said.

"Yes, the class is taking place now, and you are to go there at once. Is there a problem?"

"No, ma'am," Harry said, not sure why he was now blushing, other than he felt stupid and she was speaking to him as if he were. "I'll just... be going, then." He spared a glance at Malfoy who was now staring miserably at the worktable, his face red, as well.

When he was in the corridor with Heather, he plied her with questions. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," she said. "All I know is Headmaster Black wants you in his class."

"His class?"

"Yes. It's the one subject he still teaches." She walked with her eyes ahead, not looking at Harry. "Apparently he's decided you need that more than Potions."

"Are you in the class, too?"

"Of course not," she said, almost a hiss.

"So why does the headmaster seem to have it in for Dra— Malfoy?"

"Ask me some other time," she said, beginning to climb the stairs to the upper classrooms. She glanced at the portraits on the walls they were passing. 

"Oh." Harry was silent for the rest of the walk to the Theory of Magic classroom, which was not far from the headmaster's office. 

Heather knocked on the door when they arrived, and it opened seemingly of its own accord. She held out a hand encouraging him to go in, nodded to the headmaster, and then left. Harry scanned the room looking for a place to sit, as every eye in the room remained fixed on him. The door closed behind him and he jumped. It was a low-vaulted room with tall, narrow windows running its length.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter," said Phineas Nigellus Black, in one of the least welcoming voices Harry had ever heard. He pointed to an empty place in the second row of desks. "I've looked over your curriculum from your, ahem, former school and it is clear to me that your education is sorely lacking in the theoretical department." Harry took his seat with a blank expression on his face. He was quite sure his transfer had nothing to do with his education. "You will not need the final year of Potions to proceed in a useful career, but you will need what I have to teach."

The silence after the headmaster finished speaking stretched on and Harry realized he was waiting for a reply. "Yes, sir," he said quickly.

The headmaster nodded curtly and turned to the blackboard behind him. He waved his wand to erase what had been written there, and then clasped his hands, wand still clutched in his right, behind his back. "Mr. Hennigan. Will you please enumerate for us the five component bases of successful spell generation? On the board, please."

A sandy-haired Hufflepuff got to his feet and approached the blackboard with obvious trepidation. The tip of his wand trembled as he raised it and began lettering on the board. "Uh, number one, intention. Number two, precedent. Number three, linguistics. Number four..." He faltered under the beady-eyed stare of Black, who was standing a few feet from him, his hands still clasped behind his back, but his foot beginning to tap ominously. "F-f-four..." The boy's hand began to shake harder and he stared at the blackboard as if the answer might appear if he wished hard enough. 

"Wand down, please," said the headmaster. 

The boy put his wand down on the lip of the blackboard, and then placed his hand flat against the surface of the blackboard, his face turned away and his eyes closed. Harry could not fathom what he was doing. The boy held that pose for a few seconds, then just as he opened one eye to see what the headmaster was doing, Black rapped him hard, three times, on the knuckles. 

"Mr. Hennigan. Fourteen inches of parchment on my desk by Wednesday on the five components."

"Yes, sir," the boy said, and nearly ran back to his desk, leaving his wand where it was.

Harry realized his mouth was hanging open and he closed it slowly. 

Class went downhill from there.

***

Malfoy was not at lunch in the Great Hall, but he reappeared in Charms class. He said nothing to Harry about the headmaster, and Harry said nothing in return. It wasn't until that evening, in their room, as Harry worked on an essay for History of Magic, that either of them mentioned it.

"So, how was 'Theory of Magic,'" Malfoy asked, his voice so thick with sarcasm that Harry had to remind himself this was the friendly Draco.

"Well, I never did learn the five components of spell generation, or whatever it was he was going on about," Harry said. "But at least I didn't get my knuckles rapped with a wand. Yet."

"I'm sorry Black's taking it out on you. That class is just his excuse to torture most of the hard cases in the school," Malfoy said, and Harry looked up to find the other boy sucking the end of his quill and staring at him. "He's just trying to make my life as miserable as possible."

"What do you mean? Why?"

Malfoy put the quill down on the table. Harry thought it funny that Malfoy sat with him here at the table rather than use the writing desk. "I told you. I got his grandson into a lot of trouble."

"I thought Slytherins were always in trouble," Harry said, though Malfoy didn't react to the joke. "Someone told me once... that my disregard for the rules would have made me a good Slytherin, you know."

Malfoy merely nodded, his eyes shadowed. 

"Come on, Draco. I can tell you want to tell me about it." Harry put down his quill as well. "And you owe me since it's your fault I'm suffering through Black's class now. Just when I was starting to like Potions for the first time, too."

Malfoy stood up suddenly, and walked over to the cabinet where the butterbeer was kept. He pulled out a different bottle, and busied himself pouring two measures into glasses. Then he returned to the table and put one of the glasses in front of Harry. "Here. I hope you'll like this."

"What is it?" Harry asked, sniffing at it.

"Cassis liqueur. Made from the berries on my own family's land." He took a sip himself. "The Malfoy family is a very old wizarding family."

Harry was about to say "I know," but he realized it might be better not to interrupt. Instead he took a small sip himself. It was sweet, but it burned on the way down his throat in a stimulating and pleasant way. 

"The house elves make it," he went on. "I'm not even sure how. We don't even open a cask of it until it's at least 25 years old." He swirled it in his glass. "So it's not as if I don't know the value in waiting for the right time. That patience can pay off."

Harry watched as Draco swept his hair back. The blond wizard took another sip, his tongue running for a moment along the rim of the glass. The movement was fascinating, and Harry remembered the feeling of that tongue, brushing his lips lightly.

His mouth itched with hunger for it. He blinked, aware that this was not a feeling he'd had before traveling to 1926, but then again, he'd had experiences here that he had not had before. He licked his own lip lightly and tasted cassis there.

"But it's hard to wait, Harry," Draco was saying. "When sometimes you don't know what is going to happen."

"You mean waiting for Regulus to come back?" Harry said, trying to follow the thread of Draco's statements.

He sat in the chair across from Harry again, his shoulders slumped and the glass held in his hands below the table where Harry could not see it. "I... I suppose," he said. He seemed both nervous and sad and Harry felt his usual compulsion to help any way he could. The same compulsion that drove him to chase after Draco this morning. Even if there wasn't anything he could do.

"What can I do to help?" Harry asked.

Draco's eyes angled up at that, though the rest of him didn't move, and then he dropped his gaze once more. "I don't want to get you into the same trouble I got Reg into."

"I told you, I'm good at trouble."

"You tempt me, Potter. You sorely tempt me." Draco stood up then and walked to the other side of the room. Harry wondered at Malfoy's sudden need to put more distance between them. Malfoy knocked back what remained in his glass and stood fidgeting. Harry watched him, unable to resist making comparisons between this Draco and the other he knew. This one's hair was considerably longer, and he wore it loose, which softened his features to an almost feminine degree. As if to match, his voice and manner toward Harry were also considerably less harsh. And yet. Would the Draco Harry knew have been like this without Lucius for a father or without Voldemort in his life? 

Draco came closer then, walked up to the table and said, "You've hardly touched your cassis." He picked up Harry's glass and swigged it back himself.

"I would've finished it, you know," Harry said, surprised and puzzled. 

Draco's face broke into a wicked grin. "Just having you on. If you want some more, you're welcome to it."

"What's gotten into you, tonight?" Draco seemed to be changing direction more often than the Golden Snitch.

"I told you. I just want to make trouble." Draco went to the door. "You coming? I'm sure we can stir up some fun."

"Another game of Truth or Dare?" Harry asked, his mouth tingling again in memory. 

"I think something with higher stakes," Malfoy said. "Say, how much do you need for the broom you want?"

"Er," Harry was taken aback by the sudden change of topic. "Goyle was telling me about the latest thing, running about twenty galleons, the Cleansweep..." He felt ridiculous saying it. He'd almost called it the "Cleansweep One," though of course in 1926 they hadn't yet begun to number their broom models. The Cleansweep Two wouldn't be out for several more years, if Harry remembered the facts in Quidditch Through the Ages right. 

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. "Of course. My father helped front some of the money to Barnaby Ollerton to start that company. I daresay we might be able to get you one at a discount." He gestured vaguely at Harry. "Staying in to work on that essay, are you then?"

Harry had the distinct feeling now that Malfoy didn't want him to come along. "Um, yes. I suppose. Though perhaps I'll poke my head out a bit later."

Malfoy merely nodded and let himself out through the door.

Harry found himself shortly staring at his unfinished essay. The day had been so full of emotional ups and downs, he hardly knew where to start. Headmaster Black was antagonizing them both and Harry felt strangely protective of Malfoy about that. Malfoy was clearly upset, about Regulus and his grandfather both. Was that why he seemed to run so hot and cold? And Harry was still haunted by the feeling of Draco's lips on his, Draco's hands seizing him and throwing him over his lap.

There was no way around that fact. He kept thinking about it, while running his uninked quill over a blank piece of parchment in invisible curlicues.

Well, Harry thought, it's not as if I'm the first bloke to find a bloke attractive, am I? His heart hammered a bit at that thought, but he calmed it. Gay wizards couldn't be any less common than gay Muggles, could they? Hmm. Harry thought then about Cho and Ginny. Was being gay really an all or nothing proposition? Maybe for Muggles it was, but for wizards...?

He hadn't really ever had feelings for men or boys. But he was attracted to Draco, of that he was sure. When he thought about it that way, it didn't seem that confusing. Draco was the one person here--rather, now--that he was close to, the one person he cared about. And he had kissed him. Sort of. He ran his fingers over his lips again, thinking about it with his eyes closed.

It made perfect sense when he thought about it that way. What didn't make sense was how Draco kept coming close to saying something, or doing something, and then veering away at the last moment. Harry still didn't know what he was hiding. Maybe more than one thing.

A short time later, he did venture out to the common room but Draco was nowhere in sight. He talked brooms and Quidditch with Frost and some of the Slytherins hanging about by the fire for a bit, and then went to bed, wondering where Draco was for the second night in a row.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry spent his study period the next day in the library reading up on time travel. The definitive work on the subject seemed to have been written by one Melisandra Fogg, one of the co-inventors of the time turner. He liked the thought that maybe Hermione was there in 1997, reading the same book, maybe even sitting at the same table, and he felt close to her all of a sudden. He would return--he had to. It was prophesied, wasn't it?

A crazy idea came to him. What if Hermione was reading this same book in the future? Could he send her a message through it? He dug a piece of parchment out of his bag. Would the geas prevent him from writing something that might taint the time line? And really, what would he tell Hermione that would be helpful?

He tried to imagine her in his place. What would make sense to her? In frustration, he banged his fist on the table, earning him some black looks from two Ravenclaws across from him. He had just realized, Hermione wouldn't have any way to know that he had gone back in time. All they would know is that he had disappeared. They probably assumed that Voldemort had gotten him. They didn't have Snape to spy for them anymore; they wouldn't have any way of knowing what was happening in Voldemort's camp. And the last person to see him had been Vincent Crabbe.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, then set his quill to the paper anyway. The ministry would find a way to return him to the future, and in the meantime, he decided to write his note anyway. 

_Dear Hermione,_

_It's 1926 when I am writing this. I'm not sure how I got here,_  
but I expect it is some weirdness about Hogwarts Castle.  
Crabbe shoved me into an alcove near the door to the Potions  
classroom, and I ended up going back in time. Phineas Black is  
the headmaster and the Ministry of Magic is working on sending me  
back. I mean, forward. I've been here two weeks already though, and no word.  
Things are fine with me, otherwise. I've made some friends.   
Classes are going well--I might even do well on my NEWTS.  
I miss you and Ron and I hope you find this, and that I get  
back soon. 

_Love,_

_Harry_

It did make him feel better to write the note. I will get back, he thought to himself. I couldn't be lucky enough to dodge Trelawney's damn prophecy completely. He folded the note, placed it into the book, and put the book back onto the shelf. There truly wasn't much more he could do.

Writing the note seemed to free Harry's mind from thinking about the future. He barely thought about Voldemort once the rest of the week. And by now he was used to Draco. He no longer expected every comment to be followed with an insult. In fact, it seemed like he could hardly remember what the other Draco sounded like, looked like. He remembered a petulant child, then a stubborn teen, one who seemed weak and almost pitiful at the end. This Draco, on the other hand, seemed a competent wizard, proud but wounded in some way Harry hadn't quite figured out. 

The morning of Quidditch tryouts Harry was awakened by his curtains being thrown back and Draco speaking the simple words: "It's here."

"What's here?" Harry struggled to grab his glasses and sit up at the same time. He finally got them on his face and looked down to see Draco sitting cross-legged on the rug, a long package wrapped in paper across his knees.

Harry clambered down and sat in front of him. "Draco..."

"Open it." Draco thrust the package, which was obviously a broom, into Harry's hands. Harry tore the paper off and then stared. The broom was beautiful, the handle a highly polished oak, stained almost black and varnished to a high gloss, the twigs charmed into a classic shape, the footrests brass and twisted into pleasing curlicues.

"But I didn't have enough yet..." Harry tried to say.

"Harry," Draco said. "I bought it for you. It's a gift."

"Draco, I can't..." But Harry's protests died in his mouth as he saw the hurt look in Draco's eyes. Harry changed tack. "Wow. This is amazing." He ran his hand down the handle. "Thank you."

"I want that House Cup," Draco said with a mock glare. "Are you nervous?"

"Not really," Harry said. Quidditch wasn't one of the things he ever had worries about. 

"Oh." Draco looked around the room. "Still, do you fancy going down to the Great Hall or should we just eat here?"

"I, um..." Harry found it hard to speak when his brain was in the middle of trying to figure out Draco Malfoy. Harry wasn't nervous, but Draco was...? "Whatever you want."

Draco smiled and snapped his fingers. Two house elves with trays laden with food appeared at the table, set them down, and disappeared. "Come on, let's eat."

They went to the table and Harry began buttering a roll. "So, who else is trying out?"

"I'm not sure," Draco said, paying intense attention to the tangerine he was peeling.

"What do you mean? A Slytherin doesn't sneeze without you knowing about it. Who else? That bruiser from fifth year, Hickock? Hickman?"

"Um, I don't know. He might."

"You're a terrible liar." Harry speared a sausage on a fork and bit into it. "You know that, don't you?"

"If you say so." Malfoy did not meet his eyes.

"What about you? That's why you're being so nice, isn't it? Because you're going to try out, too?"

Malfoy just laughed. "I told you. No more Quidditch for me. I had to choose between that and Dueling Club, and I chose dueling."

Harry pushed aside his memories of dueling to press the issue. "Seriously, Draco. What are you hiding from me? I really don't like it when people hide things from me." 

That came out sharper than Harry intended, but before he could soften the statement Draco said, "I know." He put down the peeled tangerine without eating any of it. For a moment Harry thought he was going to get up and walk away, but then he smiled, an impish grin. "You'll find out soon enough though, won't you? Now eat. But not too much or you'll be too heavy to fly."

"I... all right." There was no figuring Malfoy out. Harry gave up for the moment and enjoyed the food. 

After a few moments, Draco spoke again. "How much do you want it?"

"Pardon?" Harry said, his cheek bulging with croissant.

"To get the Seeker position. How badly do you want it?" He was looking at Harry sidelong, as if staring at him straight out would hurt his eyes.

"Well, I know there's always a chance the Ministry are going to pop in at any second and send me back, but I can't really count on that, can I?" Harry took a gulp of pumpkin juice. "And I don't do things halfway."

"You want it."

"Yeah."

"Well, good luck." Draco got up then, and pulled on his robes to go outside. "I'll see you down at the pitch."

Harry finished eating and changed into some suitable flying clothes. He wondered what the weather was like outside--one of the drawbacks to the dungeon rooms.

As it turned out, it was a bright, crisp day outside. Early October wind blew his robes back but the sun was warm on his face. He carried the Cleansweep in his left hand as he made his way down to the grass. A couple of players were already flying some lazy laps on their brooms and a few students lounged in the stands to watch. Harry recognized Whittington as she swooped past him, the Quaffle under her arm, and Frost in the stands. 

The Slytherin team captain was a seventh year named Barnabas Carrow, a solid-looking fellow who played Beater instead of Keeper, he said, because his arms weren't long enough to make those spectacular saves they needed. He blew his whistle and the players flying about touched down in front of them. Harry stood in with them. 

"All right then, first I'd just like to see everybody fly. Yes, you too Crabbe, old and new players alike. Follow Phillips here, and try to stay as close to him as you can."

Phillips was a lithe fifth year who had tied his long brown hair back to keep it from flying in his face while on his broom. He kicked off toward the goal posts and the group followed him. Harry started near the back of the group, getting the feel of the Cleansweep, but it was remarkably well charmed, very responsive to him. When Phillips began a zig zag pattern around the stands and through the goal posts, Harry discovered the broom's ability to make tight turns might have been even better than his Firebolt.

Phillips soon had them diving across the pitch, and Harry simply relished the feeling of wind in his hair as they accelerated.

Then came another whistle and they flew back to where Carrow waited. "Right then," he said, when the group had all touched down. "Chasers over here with Whittington," he pointed to his right, "Keepers, here," and he pointed to his left. "Beaters, with me."

Harry was surprised to find himself standing alone in the middle. 

"Right then, Potter? You're our only Seeker candidate?"

"It looks that way."

Carrow crossed his arms as if annoyed by this turn of events. "Well, I still need to see if you can cut it. There's a Snitch out there already, so why don't you just get on with trying to bring it back while I get the Beaters started on some drills, eh?"

Harry kicked off without a word, feeling a bit put out. It wasn't that Carrow had insulted him, exactly, but was it Harry's fault that no one else had shown up? He didn't like being talked to that way, but then again, he reminded himself, this was the Slytherin Quidditch team. It was best to put the thoughts out of his head and concentrate on finding the Snitch.

On a brilliant sunny day like this, the Snitch should be shiny and bright, but on the other hand, the glint off other things could be distracting. More than once Harry veered toward a flash of something only to realize it was just glare off the newly painted goalposts or a metal bracket in the stands. The Beaters had been selected and the players who did not make the cut were on their way back to the castle when Harry finally saw it. The Chasers were now working on a drill, passing the Quaffle back and forth, and Harry could see the Snitch hovering just under Phillips' feet. 

He dove toward them, trying to swing around so he would not disrupt the pattern of the drill, but the Snitch suddenly took off toward the grass. Harry increased the angle of his dive and went after it. The Chasers cheered him as he sped past and he couldn't help but smile. The Snitch skittered along, skimming the grass itself then, toward the goalposts, and Harry leveled off and tried to get more speed out of his broom. But he was at his limit, and the Snitch and he moved at about the same pace. 

He chased it back and forth across the pitch, keeping about five meters behind but never able to close the distance. He soon realized that the others had stopped their drills and were watching him, shouting encouragement. The Snitch began an erratic flight, trying to shake him off, but he stuck right with it, spiraling up, then down, zigzagging over the grass and then shooting straight up in the air.

Harry climbed after it, followed it in a rainbow arc back toward the goalposts and then went into a dive straight down. Yes. He could put on a little more speed when going downward, and as they hurtled toward the ground the broom's handle overtook the winged ball, and in another instant his hand snatched it out of the air. He pulled up on the broom then, stressing the Braking Charms to their limit as the grass rushed up at him. He hit he ground with both feet and tumbled and rolled before coming to a full stop, the broom handle buried six inches into the turf.

He sat up and blinked, as the rest of the team came flying and running toward him. 

Whittington reached him first, her hair windblown and half in her mouth as she spoke. "Are you all right, Potter?"

"I'm fine." Harry stood, as if to prove it, the wings of the Snitch fluttering as it tried to escape his grip. "Bit of a hard landing, that's all. New broom."

"Well, what do you think, Barnie?" Philips said to Carrow.

Carrow held out his hand for the Snitch and Harry gave it to him. "Well, Potter, I've just one thing to say." He deactivated the wings and put the Snitch into his pocket. "No, two things. One, that was bloody brilliant. Two, welcome to the team."

Harry stuck around for the rest of the tryouts and when they were finished, the team headed up to the Great Hall together for lunch. Harry kept expecting to see Malfoy--after all, hadn't he said he would be down at the pitch?--but there was no sign of him.

He finally found him, down in the dungeon in their room, apparently studying. "Draco, it's gorgeous outside. We've got a couple of hours of daylight left. Let's go down to the lake."

Draco looked up from his books, a sly look on his face. "I hear you won the Seeker's position."

"Well, there wasn't much competition..." Harry suddenly remembered Draco's nervousness from the morning. "You arranged it that way, didn't you."

"No, not really," Draco said, in an unconvincing tone.

"You didn't have to do that," Harry said, trying to find the edge of his anger, but it would not come into focus. "Not for me."

Draco looked down, then back at Harry with a smile on his face. "So, how's the new broom?"

Harry paused a moment before speaking. He could either let Draco change the subject, or he could press on with his beef, but as he wasn't really sure if he was angry or not, it seemed better to let it go. He decided to return to his original tack. "It's terrific. Come on, let's go outside and you can try it, too."

Draco sighed. "All right." An amused look stole across his face, as if he were pleased but slightly puzzled that Harry had taken charge for once.

They went out by the lake, and took turns flying. Draco turned some neat loops and Harry found himself trying them on his next go, and on it went until the wind got too chill in their ears. Harry had always felt his best while flying, as if his cares were left behind on the ground, as if who he was could not keep up with his flight. He took one last loop-de-loop in the setting sun and then headed back toward Draco. He swooped down, intending to come to a stop right in front of him, but again he overestimated the Braking Charm and stumbled a few feet, Draco catching him as they collided.

For a moment it seemed they would keep their balance, but then Draco gave way under Harry's weight and they fell into a tangle of robes. Harry's face was flushed from the wind and he panted, breathless from the acceleration of that last dive. He pressed his forehead against Malfoy's without thinking, putting both hands behind that blond head as he lowered his mouth and kissed him.

It wasn't a seductive, teasing Slytherin kiss like the one Draco had nearly given him on his first night. It was a bold, impulsive Gryffindor kiss, and Draco whimpered quietly under him, his tongue surging up to meet Harry's. Harry felt quite sure he had never wanted something more than his lips on Draco's just then.

But eventually he needed to breathe, really breathe, and he pulled back. Draco didn't seem to be able to speak, so Harry said, "Thanks for the broom."

"My pleasure," Draco breathed in return. 

He seemed about to say something else, but Harry did not want to give him the chance to change his mind or change the subject. "I've wanted to do this since Truth or Dare," Harry said, letting his fingers clutch Draco by the hair gently but firmly. He lowered his head again, this time tasting Draco's ragged breath as he brushed his mouth over his--once, twice, three times--until Draco was struggling to rise up and meet him. Harry let him, and was surprised to find himself rolled onto his own back, as Draco took charge. He devoured Harry's mouth, one hand holding Harry by the chin, the fingers of the other snaking into Harry's windblown hair.

Harry had never been kissed this way before, so aware of his partner's hunger and his own. Sometimes when he had kissed Ginny he had gotten lost in the kisses. Now he felt enraptured but aware every moment of what Draco was doing to him, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth, drawing Harry's out, his lips sliding against Harry's... Harry wasn't sure what made him open his eyes, but he opened them to find Draco doing the same. 

Draco whispered. "You don't know what you've started, Potter."

"Why don't you show me then?"

Draco pressed his forehead to Harry's. "Not here." He scrambled up then, and looked around. They were the only ones on this shore of the lake, and he nodded to himself. "Let's go in." He held out a hand to help Harry up, then released him and picked up the Cleansweep. They climbed up to the castle together, neither one speaking.


	6. Chapter 6

As they went through the entrance hall, the sound of students gathering for dinner in the Great Hall echoed from the stone and the smell of something delicious wafted on the air. But the two young wizards took the stairs down to the dungeon without a word, without even meeting each other's eyes.

The instant they were on the other side of Draco's spell-locked door, Harry pushed him up against it with a kiss. Now that they were upright and not lying on the chilly bank of the lake, he could feel Draco's body move against his as they kissed. Harry ran his hands down Draco's sides, locking them in the small of Draco's back and pulling their hips together. 

But Draco broke away. "Mister Potter. If you think I'm going to let you toss me on the rug like some fifth year, you're sorely mistaken."

"I just..."

"Plus, you're filthy." Draco raised his wand as well as his eyebrow, then flicked his wrist. The bathroom door swung open, and something flew from Draco's trunk into the room. "Go."

"Come with me." Harry reached for Draco's hand.

Draco shook his head slowly. "Patience, Potter. Patience."

"Fine." Harry took a step toward Draco though, closing the distance between them. "I'll wash. But it's Harry, okay?" And with that he stole another kiss from Draco's lips, then scurried into the bathroom.

The taps were already running with warm water, and Harry saw that what had flown into the room was a robe, a forest green robe, made out of some fine material--silk? satin?--Harry didn't know. There were bubbles in the water, scented with lavender. Harry placed his glasses on the washstand, slid out of his clothes and into the tub, the back of his mind marveling that Malfoy had managed it all with a single flick of the wand. He supposed one didn't become the prince of the Slytherins on good looks alone.

The bath was lovely, but Harry was impatient and didn't stay in long. There was a part of him that expected Draco would be gone when he emerged from the bathroom. Now that he thought over the past few weeks, he was sure that Draco had been on the verge of making a move more than once only to veer off at the last moment each time. Would he do so again? Harry belted the robe and ran his fingers through his hair. Drying charms always made it stick up worse than before, so he left it wet, took a deep breath, and went back into the main room.

Candles flickered everywhere, the spell windows showed the moon rising over the lake, and the usual table and chairs were replaced by two tuffets and some pillows with what Harry would have called a coffee table in the middle. But instead of coffee on the table, an array of delicious-smelling dishes stood. Draco was on his knees, pouring tea out of a silver pot into flower-shaped glasses. He looked up as Harry approached, indicating with his eyes Harry should sit on the tuffet opposite. The scent of mint and exotic spices made Harry's stomach growl. Perhaps there was good sense in having some food. Harry sank onto the cushion suddenly weak-kneed. The impulsive energy that had driven him to kiss Draco earlier had dissipated and if he was not going to--as Draco put it--toss him on the rug like some fifth year, then Harry felt unsure what to do.

For the moment, it seemed Draco was leading. "Soup first," he said, handing a small bowl to Harry with both hands. He picked up one identical and sipped from it.

"No spoons?"

"No spoons," Draco said with a prim glance over the top of his bowl. "In Morocco they don't use silverware."

"Oh." Harry's feeling of being out of his depth increased. But the soup was delicious, lentils perhaps? Salty and delicately spiced. He put his empty bowl down on the low table and Draco vanished it. "What's next?"

"You'll see." Draco unveiled the next dish from under a silver cover. To Harry it looked like a flat round pastry, dusted with sugar and cinnamon. Draco stabbed it deftly with two fingers; it crackled as he punctured it and steam began to pour out of it.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Here." Draco broke off a bit, held it gingerly in the palm of his hand for a moment as it cooled, then holding it in three fingers, lifted his hand toward Harry's mouth. Harry's tongue and lips took the morsel--that was sugar and cinnamon!--and he chewed it eagerly. It was like a pastry with a crispy crust, with meat and nuts inside, sweet and savory at once. Harry had never imagined such a thing, but off Draco's fingers it was the most delectable thing he'd ever tasted.

Draco watched him swallow, then broke off another piece and brought it to Harry's mouth. This time Harry caught him by the wrist, and after swallowing another bite of the pastry, he sucked the sugar from Draco's fingers. A tiny noise escaped Draco's throat and Harry looked up to see Draco's eyes had closed. He let go his wrist then and watched Draco take a shaky breath.

"Your turn," Harry breathed, reaching to break off a piece of the pastry. He came around the low table to Draco's side and held it just above Draco's mouth. Draco tipped his head back, coming up onto his knees from his cushion to reach the tidbit, taking it gently into his mouth. As he chewed Harry reached for more, not wanting to take his eyes off Draco, who had closed his eyes in sensual delight once again. He picked an almond out of the center of the pastry, sugar and cinnamon dusting his fingers, and then crawled up and over Draco who obligingly fell back onto the cushions. Harry lay his body along the length of Draco's, playing his sugary fingers along Draco's lips until Draco nipped the almond away from him. Then Harry kissed away the sugar, licking Draco's mouth and sliding on top of him, the smooth robes slipping over one another as if oiled.

"Insistent, aren't you?" Draco said upon freeing his mouth.

"Once I know what I want, yeah," Harry answered.

"There are four more courses," Draco pointed out. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Quite," Harry said, and kissed him more earnestly, his hands pressing Draco's shoulders down into the pile of cushions. "I think I'm ready for the next course." With that, he pushed Draco's robe from his shoulder, baring one nipple, and he bent his head to suckle. 

Draco arched back, his cry caught in his throat the pleasure was so sharp. Harry trapped the nipple between his lips and worried it with his tongue, then repeated the treatment on the other. Draco seemed to like it very much, which encouraged Harry greatly.

He heard Draco's stomach rumble.

Harry remembered Draco had eaten little for breakfast. He disengaged his mouth and spoke. "Did you have lunch?"

Draco shook his head as if Harry's attentions had temporarily robbed him of speech.

Harry sat up and lay the platter with the pastry on it next to Draco's head. He then stretched out, his head propped on his elbow next to the plate, and broke off another piece for Draco to eat. He put another bite in his own mouth while Draco chewed.

"What is it called?" Harry asked, when they were nearly finished with it.

"B'stella," Draco replied, licking sugar from the corner of his mouth and looking much like a contented cat on his back.

"And what's the next course?" Harry asked, picking up Draco's wand to vanish the plate so he could lie closer to him. 

"Tomato and cucumber sa..." Draco did not finish what he was saying as Harry slid his hand between Draco's legs and cupped his balls. He let his hand slide upward, Draco's erection fitting in the fleshy groove between Harry's thumb and forefinger. Harry wrapped his fingers gently around it and was gratified to hear Draco say simply "Harry..." 

"Draco," he answered, aware of the shiver that saying that name gave him. No, he couldn't forget the Draco he used to know, some part of him still thought of the two Malfoys as extensions of the same person, but right now anything that added to the thrill of feeling Draco under his hand was just fine with Harry. He stroked Draco the way he usually stroked himself, with his forefinger crooked and his thumb aligned with the length of it. "What do you want next?"

In answer, Draco threw his arms around Harry's neck and shuddered against him. "Harry," he said again.

Harry kept his strokes languid and slow, enjoying the way Draco's trembling increased as his hand would near the head, and then subside as he would pull it back down to his balls. He stroked him until he lost track of time, until Draco's shudders were accompanied by soft moans. Harry began to wonder how hard it would be to bring Draco off this way. If he sped up or squeezed harder, would it be enough?

"Patience, Malfoy, patience," he said, mimicking Draco's earlier admonition.

"Harry," Draco whispered, seemingly unable to say anything else. "Harry, Harry..." He bucked in Harry's hands now, his spine undulating as his body sought its release. Draco's voice grew harsher and Harry understood that he was begging. He could almost hear a familiar voice saying "Malfoys do not beg!" but it was clear that they did. Even if he didn't say "please" or ask for what he wanted, there was no mistake. Harry felt a tingle run through his whole body at that thought, his hand tightening reflexively, and now he was stroking Malfoy in earnest, jerking his foreskin up and down. Harry was caught between two desires now, one to keep watching Draco's face as he came, the other to kiss him as he did.

He settled for watching, as Draco threw his head back, his face contorted and almost surprised-looking as he came in hot spurts over Harry's hand. Harry held on tightly as Draco rode out the spasms--he liked to keep his own hand on, after all--and kept his body snug against Draco's as the tension flowed away and the blond wizard seemed to melt into the pillows.

Neither of them spoke for long moments. Draco looked up into Harry's eyes and just stared. 

"So, what's the next course?" Harry prompted.

Draco blinked and with a smirk seemed to come back to himself. "It was to be rabbit on cous cous, but I think it will have to be you."

Harry grinned.

"But first," Draco picked up his wand, solemnly performed a quick cleaning charm, and then reared up on his knees. He pointed the wand at Harry then, as he reached for a glass of mint tea, drained it, and set it back on the table. 

Harry looked at the wand curiously. Wizards used magic for everything, so why would sex be any different? But Harry didn't know what Draco might do--with or without the wand for that matter. He himself had merely improvised and been pleased with the result. He stayed still, propped on one arm on the pillows, watching Draco expectantly. 

Draco flicked the wand to the right, and the belt of Harry's robe untied, then to the left and the flap of the robe flew open. Draco now drew his wand slowly back to the right, and the other side of the robe slid back inch by inch to reveal all of Harry. Harry gasped at the feeling of the cloth sliding over his erection, then the open air. 

"Ah," Draco said. "As I remembered it from that day in the headmaster's office."

The next thing Harry felt was a sensation like warm oil was being poured over him, starting at the top of his head and creeping down his skin. It was clearly some kind of spell, Draco whispering the incantation as he moved his wand in lazy circles. When the sensation reached Harry's nipples he arched and gasped, beginning to shudder in anticipation of what it would feel like when it reached a bit lower.

Harry would have thought he could not get harder, but as the spell wrapped itself around his balls and worked its way to the tip, his cock stood up straight as a broom handle and he felt as though his heart were beating down there, not in his chest. His eyes and mouth were wide open. He suddenly wanted to grab Draco and rub every inch of his skin against Draco's skin, Draco's robe, anything. He moved to sit up, to reach for the other wizard, but found himself thrown back into the pillows by an invisible force.

Draco shook his head. "No no. My turn now," he said, in a voice Harry would have called malicious it was so full of hunger, had it not been for the obvious context. Draco spoke another word and the belt of Harry's robe snaked up his arms and wound his wrists together above his head. Harry couldn't see what the belt was attached to, if anything, but when he tugged, he could not move them. He fought down a sudden surge of involuntary panic, but Malfoy--no, Draco--was kneeling by him now, whispering "Shhh, shhh." And lowering his mouth to Harry's.

It was like that first kiss, that first not-kiss, when Draco, cradling his head in his hands, played his breath over Harry's lips, but did not completely close the distance between them. Then Draco withdrew, and Harry whimpered, a sudden flash of the exquisite torture that lay ahead for him coming to his mind. His masturbating of Draco hardly seemed like teasing in comparison. The spell made Harry's skin feel electrified, and he rubbed his back against the cushions and moaned. 

Then he felt a brush under his chin, at his throat, something soft. He opened his eyes to find Draco holding a feather in his hand. Not one of their plain workaday quills, but one of the fancy ones with long, soft tendrils of feather. Draco dusted it over Harry's nipples and Harry cried out. It felt so good, and yet, not good enough, the touch so light his nerves screamed for something more.

It was like making love with a ghost, as Draco plied the feather up and down Harry's torso, down his taut stomach, along his ribs and up under his bound arms. Harry's moans became more frantic as time went on and Draco ran the feather down his legs, along the inside of his thighs.

Then he put the feather down, and picked up a napkin from the table. This he started between Harry's legs and he drew it upward, toward Harry's head, so that the cloth dragged over Harry's erection.

"Draco," Harry heard himself say. He recognized that tone--it was the same one with which Draco had spoken his name earlier. The cloth made another round. "Draco!"

Draco's smile blossomed slowly on his face, as he bent his head toward Harry's crotch. He puckered his lips, took a deep breath, and then blew.

"Draco!" Harry nearly shouted in desperation as the air rushed over his skin, setting off a chain of teasing sensations all over his body. 

"Do you want something harder?" Harry jumped at the sound of Draco's voice at his ear.

Harry nodded. 

"I said, do you want something harder?" Draco repeated.

"Yes, please," Harry breathed. Then he moaned as he felt Draco's hands on him, turning him over onto his stomach and pushing the robe aside. Draco ran his hands down Harry's back, and Harry imagined he must feel the way a cat feels when being petted. Draco lengthened his strokes, down Harry's back and over his buttocks, until he settled on just rubbing the buttocks in slow circles. Harry bit his lip, the memory of being spanked over Draco's lap coming to him. He didn't know how a spanking would feel with Draco's skin-sensitivity spell but he felt sure it would be good. His face flushed as he realized that was exactly what Draco meant when he had said "something harder."

The first blow fell then and Harry jerked against the pillows, an absolute explosion of pleasure spreading over him. Malfoy did it again and Harry breathed deeply, the sensation resonating like a gong through him. The blows came faster now, rhythmic, and Harry thrust into the pillows under him in time with the beats. The entire world focused down to just his skin, where Draco touched him, and where his cock touched the fabric. 

"Draco," he said, surprised at the gulping quality of his voice, "Draco, I'm going to come..."

Draco's voice was in his ear. "Do you want to?"

"Yes!" Harry hissed. It felt like a storm was raging inside him and he long to let it loose.

"Are you sure? You wouldn't rather wait?"

"Draco, please..."

"Happy to oblige," Draco said, and switched to whipping Harry across the buttocks with his wand. One, two, three--that was all it took and Harry cried out as he came into the mass of pillows under him, then went limp.

The skin sensitivity spell seemed to dissipate with Harry's orgasm, and Draco freed Harry's hands with a flick of his wand, then gathered Harry into his arms.

As he rolled over, Harry was surprised to find his face wet with tears. "Whoa," he said, wiping at them.

"Intense?" Draco said, retrieving a glass of the mint tea for Harry and holding it for him to sip.

"Yeah." Harry gulped down the sweet tea and looked up into Draco's face. "You have to teach me that spell."

"Gladly..." Draco began, but whatever more he had been about to say was drown out by someone banging on the door. He stiffened.

"Perhaps they'll go away," Harry teased, but the smile was gone from Draco's face and he was staring intently at the door. 

"Potter." Draco's whisper was urgent. "You know this has to be kept secret, right?"

"Um..." Harry blinked. He hadn't even thought about it.

"Get in the bathroom. Run the water." Draco hurried to get up now, the pounding on the door becoming more insistent. He took a deep breath as he stood and with three sweeping flicks of his wand the entire Moroccan dinner set-up vanished, the usual table and chairs returned, and a full set of robes wrapped themselves around him. 

Harry closed the bathroom door behind him and ran the taps in the sink. His wrists were red where he had tugged against his bonds without realizing it and he was in need of another bath or cleaning charm. The thought that for an hour? two? he had not even thought about where his wand was jolted him a bit. It was here, in the bathroom, in the robes he had let crumple to the floor earlier. He drew it out now and pressed his ear to the door, the tip of his wand touching the wood, also.

The eavesdropping spell worked well enough that he could make out Whittington's voice. "I don't know what he wants. Go find out for yourself."

"On a Saturday?" came Draco's outraged reply.

"Perhaps if you'd been at dinner he would have talked to you then." Was it Harry's imagination or did she sound suspicious?

The next thing Harry heard was a door slamming. He opened the bathroom door cautiously, but Draco and Heather were gone.


	7. Chapter Seven

Harry washed up and then went out to the common room. It was just too weird that all trace of what Malfoy and he had done was gone, and it saddened him to look at the space where the pillows and pastry and silver trays had been. Draco's voice, fearful, urgent, telling him to keep it a secret rang in his ears. Hadn't Draco kissed him in front of the entire House the first night he arrived? Then again, what had he said, something about it being just a game? Harry wondered suddenly if anyone had seen them, there by the lake. Probably not--Draco would have said something otherwise. Harry didn't understand it, but he knew about treading carefully and keeping secrets.

He ended up in a long game of Exploding Snap with Barnie and Frost. The 1926 rules were slightly different from what Harry was used to but he held his own. And for once they chose a game they didn't play for money or for public humiliation. Frost seemed a bit put out whenever Harry won a round, but Barnie shrugged him off.

When they finished, Harry noticed that most of the other students had already gone off to bed. Barnie and Frost took off as well, and Harry moved over to the fire and stared into it for a while. His head turned as the entrance door opened almost before he realized he was looking, but it was Anisette. She smiled at him, red-faced, and put her hand over her mouth as she giggled and scurried off to her room. Harry guessed she'd met up with a student from another house. He barely acknowledged her, though. It was close to midnight, and he was beginning to wonder, just what did LeStrange want with Draco, anyway?

He had started to doze off in the chair when the door creaked open again. "Draco!"

Draco staggered in, his hair loose and falling in his eyes.

Harry rushed over to him. He didn't smell of firewhisky, but he could hardly stay upright. Harry put an arm around him and Draco leaned against him. "Harry..." he said, his voice a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"In the common room?"

"Oh, I..." He looked around and frowned. 

"Let's go to the room," Harry suggested. He had to practically drag Draco down the hall, and once in the room, had to use a levitation charm to lift him into his bed. He put his hand on Draco's forehead, though he wasn't sure why other than that was what Madam Pomfrey always did whenever someone showed up in the hospital wing. As far as he could tell, Draco's forehead felt normal.

"Do you want some water?" Harry asked. 

"Just tired," Draco replied, rolling onto his side toward Harry. "Why am I so tired?"

"Draco, where have you been? What have you been doing?"

Draco blinked, his long blond lashes fluttering. "I don't know." 

Harry summoned a chair and sat by the bed. "Whittington came in, remember? She said LeStrange wanted to see you. You seemed put out that he was asking for you on a Saturday."

Draco lifted his head for a moment, frowning. "That doesn't make sense."

"That's what happened, Dray. I'm not making it up."

Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry's creation of a nickname. "Where's my wand?"

"You didn't bring it with you?"

"I... I don't remember." He held out his hand and said "Accio." The wand came flying from the table where it had been sitting the entire time and Draco caught it neatly. He was panting with effort. "Am I going crazy?"

"This isn't the first time this has happened," Harry said.

Draco nodded, as if he had suspicions, too. "Harry," Draco said wearily. "Are you a Legilimens?"

"Um," Harry blushed as he thought about the subject, but said "I don't think I'm very good at it, but I know how to do it."

"Then do it. If I've been Obliviated, you'll find out."

"Are you sure?" Harry drew his wand out of his robe.

Draco looked Harry in the eye. "I trust you."

"Okay." Harry drew a breath, and then pointed his wand at Draco's head. "Legilimens!"

A stream of Draco's memories flowed into Harry's mind. Harry searched for Whittington first--yes, here she was, knocking on the door. Harry was startled by the realization that what Draco was feeling most at that moment was not the annoyance heard in his voice, but guilt. 

Guilt? Harry couldn't help it. He didn't understand why Draco would feel guilty and he wanted to know. The spell drilled down into Draco's memories and presented Harry with a scene. The place was Draco's room, and Draco was arguing with a tall thin wizard with shoulder length black hair.

"I don't have any choice," the wizard was saying.

"I know that," Draco was sitting on the bed, looking miserable. "I just wish I could do something, Reg."

Regulus Black came and took Draco's hands in his. "You can. I'll be back. Wait for me."

"I will." 

They kissed and Harry suddenly did not want to see any more of this memory. He felt a stab of something--jealousy?--but Draco's guilt was suddenly his own, and he didn't want to face that. No, this is wrong... 

And that was that. He suddenly found himself standing by Draco's bed, staring at him.

Draco looked away.

"I... I didn't mean..." Harry began. "That wasn't the memory I ... I've never tried legilimency like this before and that wasn't..."

Draco rolled away from him.

"Draco." Harry's brain was beginning to spin. "If I had known, I never would have... that is, I didn't know you..."

"Please don't say any more," Draco said, but covered his ears as he curled into a ball. 

But seeing Draco's back turned to him made Harry angry. He pulled on Draco's shoulder, expecting resistance. But Draco's head turned toward him, and he was startled by the fire burning in those eyes. "Look," Harry pressed on, but suddenly wasn't sure what it was he wanted to say. "I think you owe me an explanation."

Draco stared, the strange light in his eyes flaring, but he said nothing.

Harry stared back. "At least tell me whether I should feel guilty or not."

"What?" Draco blinked and his face snapped back to normal. "What?"

"About Regulus Black." Harry saw pain flicker across Draco's face as he said his name. "If I had known you were... I mean, if ..."

"Harry..." Draco's voice cracked and his face crumpled. "Please just hold me."

Harry felt his anger evaporate as Draco began to tremble. 

"Harry, please," Draco said through clenched teeth, clearly willing himself not to cry.

Harry nodded, put his glasses on the nightstand, and climbed onto the bed next to him. Draco rolled over and Harry spooned him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tightly. Draco shook like he was cold, and Harry didn't know if that was more aftereffects of whatever had happened earlier in the night, or if he was fighting sobs. He buried his face in the long gold silk of Draco's hair and let a fierce sense of protectiveness wash over him. 

They lay like that a long time, until Draco's tremors subsided and he fell into a deep sleep. Harry held on. A part of him said he should get in his own bed, but he didn't. He lay there just breathing in Draco's scent. He wanted to untangle the mystery, to think over all he had done and learned in the last day, but the quiet pace of Draco's breathing lulled him, and soon Harry was asleep, too.

When he woke, it was the middle of the night. He was lying on his back, one arm flung over his head, Draco's head tucked onto his shoulder with one arm thrown over Harry's chest. They were both still in their clothes. Harry opened his eyes and blinked, the room softly illuminated by the moonlight in the spelled windows. He felt Draco stir, and the weight of his head lifted. 

"Harry?" Draco asked.

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

"For what?" Harry felt his heart beat harder as Draco lay his head on his chest. 

"For not running away. For trying to help."

"I want to help you, Dray." Harry reached up with one hand and stroked Draco's hair. "Something's not right here and I want to fix it."

Draco was silent a moment. Then he said "Some things cannot be fixed."

"What do you mean?"

But Draco did not answer, only burrowed closer to Harry. "You're one of the most powerful wizards I've ever met," Draco said then.

"I am?"

"Yes. No one's ever beaten me at tug of war, you know. No one. And I don't know if you noticed, but you cracked a flagstone."

"I what?"

"When you came earlier. The stone under us cracked right down the middle." Draco nuzzled Harry.

"You're sure it wasn't like that already?"

"I'm sure." Draco propped himself up on one elbow. "I take it that sort of thing has never happened to you before."

Harry felt himself blushing in the dark. "Well, I never, um... you're the first person to make me come other than me."

Again, the sound of Draco breathing while Harry wondered what he was thinking. Then words--"I wondered..."--which left Harry wondering even more. "You don't believe it, do you?"

"I..." People had been telling Harry all his life that he was powerful. But he realized that he had never quite believed them. 

"Come on." Draco illuminated the room with a spell and Harry shielded his eyes for a moment before slipping his glasses back on. "Look at this." Draco slid from the bed and knelt on a piece of the floor just to the side of the table. He ran his fingers along a jagged crack in the stone.

Harry knelt beside him. "Wow." Then he looked up. "Um, Dray...?"

Draco followed his eyes upward and saw what had drawn Harry's attention. In the ceiling stone directly overhead there was a star-shaped web of cracks. Harry picked his wand up from the table, pointed it at the stone and said "Reparo." The cracks disappeared. He looked down at the one on the floor. "Want me to do that one, too?"

Draco met his eyes, his fingers still gripping the edge of the crack. "I'd rather like to keep this one." 

Something about the tone of Draco's voice made Harry's stomach drop and his throat tighten.

Draco stood and slid an arm around Harry's waist. "All right, Harry?"

Harry swallowed.

Draco turned so that their foreheads touched. "Harry?" he breathed as their lips came together. And all the questions Harry had about Regulus Black, and Gauis LeStrange, and Draco Malfoy, were suddenly distant and out of reach as he felt plunged into Draco's kiss, submerged blissfully by it. Harry let himself float for long minutes, their lips moving and touching, his tongue darting out and drawing a gasp from Draco, drawing Harry's hunger to the surface.

Harry gripped Draco by the upper arms then, shaking him slightly to make him look up. "I want you."

"I'm glad," Draco answered, and moved to kiss him again.

Harry held him fast, trying to remember what it was he had been trying to say. "I want you," he repeated. "But I need to know if it's okay. I don't want to..."

"Hurt me?"

"Break any promises."

Draco's trembling of earlier returned. "I need you, Harry. Merlin and Morgana help me, but I need you. Don't deprive me, now." And Draco's hands were sliding down Harry's back, over his hips, and tugging at his trousers. "Please, Harry," he said, desperation making his voice crack.

No one had ever spoken to Harry that way before and he found it difficult--no, impossible--to resist. There was some honor-bound part of him still trying to say something about Regulus Black, but his heart was pointing out that it was Draco here, not Regulus, at this moment, who needed his help. Who needed him. 

He crushed Draco's mouth with his own, then, feeling Draco's back muscles go liquid under his hands, his back bending like a sapling in a spring wind. Harry set his glasses aside, then summoned the duvet from his bed and lay Draco down upon it. Draco was wearing a white linen shirt, a bit wrinkled now that he had slept in it, closed with a dozen tiny pearl buttons. Harry lay down along Draco's body and picked at the top button until it opened.

"I could teach you a charm for that..." Draco began, but Harry silenced him with a finger on his lips.

"Let me do it my way," Harry said, undoing another button and exposing the tip of Draco's collarbone. He lowered his head and worked his tongue in the tender hollow under Draco's Adam's Apple. Then another button, and Harry let his tongue and mouth explore lower. Draco's skin was smooth, the fine blond hairs that covered him barely noticeable compared with the silken texture of his skin. Harry soon had enough buttons undone to nuzzle the shirt aside from Draco's right nipple. He sucked at it experimentally, remembering how Draco had arched when he had squeezed it between his lips and flicked it with his tongue earlier. He sucked a bit harder this time and was rewarded with spasmodic clutching from Draco, one hand deep in Harry's hair, the other clutching the small of Harry's back.

Harry let his teeth graze the nipple then and heard Draco moan in obvious pleasure. He let a hand stray over the linen, finding Draco's other nipple and flicking it with his fingernail as he tugged gingerly with his teeth on the one in his mouth. Draco's spine reversed direction, and he arched back, thrusting the nub of flesh into Harry's mouth.

Harry repeated the treatment on the other nipple while easing Draco's shirt out of his trousers. Draco hissed as Harry's hand strayed lower, his palm finding Draco's erection easily and rubbing it in slow circles. 

"Harder," Draco whispered, and at first Harry though he was referring to the pressure of Harry's hand on his cock. But no. "Bite harder. Please?"

Harry obliged, tightening his jaw for a brief moment and feeling Draco's cock leap under his fingers in answer. "Wow," he said, his lips still against Draco's skin. He pushed Draco's shirt from his shoulders, then went back to work, one nipple in his mouth, the other between his fingers, while Draco's cock lay forgotten for the moment. Harry experimented with his bites, using his canine tooth once, tugging upward while biting, sucking while biting, pinching the other nipple at the same time as biting, and so on, until Draco's panting and writhing seemed to be leveling off.

"Merlin's beard, Harry," Draco whispered. "If you keep that up I might..."

"Not yet," Harry said, his hands working on Malfoy's trousers now. Soon Draco was naked on the coverlet, and Harry ran his hands over Draco's silken skin, down his ribs, along his back and thighs, touching him everywhere but his straining cock. He was drawn to an oval mark on Draco's shoulder. "Did I bite you before?"

"Not that I remember, why?" Draco asked. 

Harry traced the mark with his fingers and Draco shivered under the touch. "Nothing." He began laying a line of kisses down Draco's spine while pinching Draco's nipples. When he reached his tailbone, he let his tongue explore the bone there. He was just considering whether he should spank Draco next or what when Draco's voice reached him.

"Harry."

"Yes, Dray."

"I want you inside me." Malfoys do not beg.

Harry lay down on top of him, still fully clothed, and nibbled his ear. "Are you sure?" Draco stiffened with what felt like a touch of anger and Harry added "I mean, I've never done that before."

The stiffness disappeared and Draco said "I'm sure."

"I don't want to hurt you."

Draco's fingers clawed the duvet. "I like to be hurt," he whispered. 

"What?"

"If you're nervous, I know a spell that might help." Draco glanced over his shoulder at Harry. "Unless you don't want to use magic."

Harry sat back on his heels. "What's the spell?"

"Use legilimency while you're doing it. That way you won't be afraid you're hurting me and don't know it." Draco rolled onto his back and reached for him. "Please, Harry."

Malfoys don't beg? Harry picked up his wand, then put it down again and shucked off his clothes. His own cock had been quivering for attention for some time now, and the thought that he could sheathe himself in Draco made him tingle to his roots. 

"Go on," Draco said, as Harry hesitated. "Please, Harry, please!"

Harry picked up his wand, cast the spell, and looked into Draco's eyes. His own desire leapt to a higher level when it touched Draco's, and he gasped. He reached down with his free hand and tweaked Draco's nipple, and felt the desire flare ever higher. Keeping his wand curled in his other three fingers, he used his thumb and forefinger to roll Draco's left nipple while doing the same with his other hand to the right. Draco closed his eyes, but the spell continued, unbroken, and Harry knew now what Draco had meant about almost being able to come from the stimulation. In fact, he was now sure Draco had spoken the truth. As he pressed a fingernail into each nipple, he knew it was possible to make Draco come this way, without ever laying a hand on his prick.

Draco's mouth engulfed Harry's own cock then, and then he licked his hand with saliva from deep in his throat and ran that up and down Harry's cock, too. His eyes met Harry's and Harry could read his intentions plain and clear. 

Harry pushed Draco back on the duvet and then insinuated his index finder into Draco's mouth. Draco whimpered, but laved the finger well, giving Harry a clear picture of it and clenching his buttocks in anticipation. Harry slid the wet finger down to Draco's anus, teasing it gently and then slipping in to the first knuckle. Yes. He could feel the ripple of pleasure run through Draco's body, read the approval and lust in Draco's mind. 

And impatience. Harry imitated what Draco had done, slicking his cock again with thick saliva, and then pressing the head against Draco's opening. Draco's eyes were open again, and they stared into each other, Harry guided more by the sensations he was reading from Draco than from his own body. Impatience, he wanted it so much--he felt Draco's heels wrap around his back insistently. 

Harry pressed forward, startled by what he was reading, feeling--the sensation on Draco's part was pain, wasn't it? But Draco didn't think of it that way, not judging by the craving Harry could taste, nor the intense relief and pleasure that washed through Draco as he buried himself as deep as he could go. 

"Harder," Draco said, or thought, Harry wasn't sure, and Harry replied: "I think I've heard that before." His palms settled against the bones of Draco's hips, he began to thrust. Any qualms he might have had about how hard Draco really wanted it were dispelled by the intensity of the overwhelmingly positive reaction he received. The feedback loop of Draco's sensations added to his own made Harry fuck all the harder, and on it went, he didn't know how long. Long enough for his arms to start to tire.

Harry touched his forehead to Draco's then, letting his hands rove over Draco's skin and settling his fingers on his nipples once again. He couldn't get as much thrust in this position, but he wanted to see what it would feel like... he gave Draco's nipples a cruel pinch with his fingernails and Draco writhed underneath him, Draco's cock trapped between their two bellies twitching with new urgency. Harry rocked his hips, his own breath squeezed, it felt, by the tightening in every part of Draco. Yes, so close. His fingertips worried Draco's nipples and he gripped them again, flicking, rolling, squeezing, pinching hard...

Draco bucked as he came, his cock thrusting against Harry's stomach as he clenched hard, sending Harry into orgasmic spasms as well. Harry felt certain that if he were reading Draco's mind when he came, he could have come without being touched. As it was he was still balls deep in Draco, which was even better, and he wrapped both arms around Draco's now sweaty torso as they rode out the aftershocks. 

It felt like a long time before their bodies finally settled, and Harry withdrew from Draco physically and mentally, though they remained in an embrace on the coverlet. Harry was surprised to find his wand was no longer in his hand. He hadn't remember dropping it. How had he maintained the legilimency, then? He felt around for it--there it was, half under Draco's back--summoned some pillows to prop their heads up with, and then lay back, wondering.

"We could just get back in bed," Draco pointed out with a yawn.

"Dray, what do you know about wandless magic?" Harry held up his wand and looked at it, even as Draco settled into the crook of his shoulder.

"Ah, see, you do need old Black's class after all," he teased.

"I just... I mean, once I dropped my wand, shouldn't the spell have been broken?"

"You're assuming you needed your wand to do it in the first place. If I had been resisting, that would probably be true. But I wasn't resisting."

"Oh." Harry realized he had been meaning to ask about this already. "And you summoned your wand..."

"A very handy talent, since if one needs a wand to summon things, but the thing one wants to summon is one's wand..." Draco lifted his free hand, the one that wasn't sandwiched between their bodies, and said "Accio!" His wand flew directly into his hand from the bedside table. "They taught us that one last year in Defensive Magic. Or tried to."

"Tried to?"

"Well, I was the only one who could do it consistently. I suppose if everyone could, then expelliarmus wouldn't be that useful." Draco looked up at the spell windows. "It'll be dawn soon."

Harry stifled a groan. "Will we be missed at breakfast?"

Draco was silent. "I... It's not uncommon for me to miss breakfast anyway."

"So it won't look suspicious if we don't emerge until later?" Harry tightened his hold on Draco. "I remember what you said, about keeping your secret."

"My secret?" Draco arched an eyebrow. "Harry, it's your secret, too."

"I..." Harry hadn't thought of it that way and he said so. "I guess there's part of me that still thinks I won't be here that long." And he felt a pang when he said that.

Draco did too, and hugged him harder. "Hardly seems fair, does it."

"Dray..."

"I survived them taking Reg away, I can survive you, too," Draco tried to joke, but he sounded miserable. "It would have to end anyway," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Even if you don't go back. We can't keep it a secret forever. We'll both leave Hogwarts at the end of the year. I'll probably be married to some pretty witch from the continent by the time I am twenty."

Harry lay stunned. "I can't believe you can just joke about it like that."

Draco sighed. "Before they put the geas on you, you told me you knew a Draco Malfoy in your time, too."

Harry nodded.

Draco pulled the loose half of the duvet over them. "That probably means I'm fathering an heir to carry on the Malfoy line. And it's not like I haven't been told my whole life that it's expected of me." He shivered and Harry suspected it had little to do with the chill on the dungeon floor. "There really aren't any options for me."

Harry wanted to tell Draco that in the future there would be openly gay wizards and Muggles alike, though they weren't universally accepted, but the geas choked him. "Damn geas," he finally said. "There are things I'd tell you, you know."

"I know." Draco shifted his weight next to Harry. "But one thing at a time. The coverlet is nice, Harry, but the bed is better."

"I'll be sure to put a pea under your mattress," Harry said, as he got to his feet.

"Pardon?"

"Muggle joke," Harry said. "Er..." He glanced from one bed to the other.

"If you don't get in with me, I'll hex you," Draco said, twirling his wand. He cast a quick cleaning charm on both of them and then slid naked between the sheets, holding the bedclothes up for Harry to slip in beside him. 

Harry obliged, putting his wand next to Draco's on the side table. That reminded him of something else. He blinked at the blurry parts of the room-- everything that wasn't within arms reach. "Accio glasses," he said, and held out his hand. His glasses flew into his palm. "Wow, that is bloody brilliant." He set them next to the wands and burrowed under the covers with Draco.

"I told you you're the most powerful wizard I've ever met," Draco said, as he drifted off to sleep.


	8. Chapter Eight

As if Draco's warning to him had not been enough, fate handed Harry one more reminder the very next day. A Ravenclaw prefect named Gorman was found badly injured in the fifth floor bathroom and the rumor had it that it was because "he was one of those." Harry could almost hear it in Uncle Vernon's vitriolic tones. Gorman spent the night in the infirmary, and the next day left Hogwarts completely.

Harry was scandalized. "They didn't even try to find out who did it," he complained to Draco that night in their room.

Draco sighed, trying to point out what Harry should have known. "Don't you think Gorman knew who did it? He almost certainly did."

Harry looked shocked, slamming his textbook shut. "Do you know who did it?"

"What makes you think I'd know that," Draco said, his voice as cool as Harry's was hot.

"I just figured you know everything about what goes on in your...fief."

"And what makes you think it was a Slytherin?" Draco pressed his fingers to his forehead, then gently mocked, "Oh, I forgot. You were raised Gryffindor." Draco might as well have said "raised by wolves in the wild."

He went on. "Let me see. It couldn't have been a Hufflepuff, they're too nice. It couldn't have been a Gryffindor, they're too noble-hearted. And it couldn't have been a Ravenclaw, they're too smart to do something like that. So that leaves us, does it?"

Harry didn't like hearing it that way, but truth be told there was a part of him that believed it. "Sorry," he said, his anger cooling a bit. "I didn't mean..."

"It's all right, Harry. But I think it probably was someone from his own house. Terrible as that might sound." Draco flipped open his own textbook as away of saying the matter was closed, but then he spoke again. "You see I wasn't kidding when I said we have to be careful."

"We don't even know what really happened..." Harry tried to argue.

"That doesn't matter, Harry. Just the fact that everyone believes the reason he got attacked was because he's a pouf ought to tell you enough."

Harry nodded. "I still don't like it. I don't like hiding and I... don't like injustice."

Draco nodded back. "I know. But prudence trumps ... heroism, all right?"

"All right."

Without discussing it again, Harry and Draco settled into a sort of routine. They no longer always sat together at meals in the Great Hall, Harry often sitting with Whittington, Carrow, and Phillips to talk Quidditch strategy as the match against Gryffindor was coming up. In the evenings, Harry was often at Quidditch practice, and once a week Draco went to a meeting of the Dueling Club. But every time Draco's spell-locked door closed behind them, the first thing Harry did was push Draco up against the door and kiss him fiercely. Sometimes what followed was studying, sometimes not. Harry felt he could concentrate better after getting off, anyway.

And he was certainly sleeping better than he had in his entire life. His scar never throbbed, he had no nightmares, and most nights Draco climbed into bed with him and slept curled against his side. The blond wizard looked younger then; the arch arrogance that so often shaped his features drained away and Harry enjoyed just looking at him. 

It was times like those that Harry made plans. He hadn't forgotten about Draco's missing memories nor the unresolved issues about Regulus Black, even though Draco acted as though he had. What did Draco's missing memories have to do with Professor LeStrange? Harry's current plan was to follow Draco while wearing his invisibility cloak the next time Lestrange asked for him. He hadn't told Draco about the idea yet, though. And as for Regulus, Harry waited for Draco to say something first. 

Everything was quite good in Harry's life then, except for the headmaster's class. Draco had been right, "Theory of Magic" seemed populated only by students Phineas Black considered malcontents or discipline problems of some kind. And no student was able to completely escape torment in the class, no matter how studious he or she might try to be, though the worst punishments were reserved for the more uppity spirits. For talking out of turn, Timothy Frost spent almost an entire double period with his mouth magically sealed shut. That might not have been so bad except for the live newt. Harry wasn't sure if Frost's tongue had been transfigured into the newt or if it came from somewhere else. Either way, Frost was still retching a half hour after class ended and the hex had been lifted.

It was only a matter of time before Harry himself came under the headmaster's eye. The most annoying thing was that Harry would have otherwise found the subject fascinating. Having been raised by Muggles, there were so many things about magic that other wizards took for granted that Harry had never even thought about. How to create new spells, wand vibration and aura, cooperative magic, cultural variations in spellcasting, and on and on. The textbook, which he had to purchase, was written in an obscure fashion, but he found it worth struggling through. The class, though, was another story.

"Mr. Potter," said Phineas Nigellus Black. "Give me an example of wandless magic."

Harry looked up from the textbook, which he had been drawn into reading while Shane Hennigan had been put through his paces at the blackboard once again. "Yes, sir," Harry answered automatically as he tried to think of an example. "Apparition?"

"Is that a question, or a statement, Mr. Potter?"

"A statement, sir. Apparition is one form of magic that can be performed without a wand."

"Give me another." Black walked with his wand behind his back, his eyebrows drawn together, and his lips pursed. He stood in front of Harry's desk.

"Yes, sir." With Black's beady eyes staring down at him, it was difficult to think and speak clearly. "Well, when young wizards don't yet have wands, they often make things happen."

"Don't speak like an imbecile, Potter. And you're in seventh year? What's the term for that phenomenon?"

Harry blinked. He didn't know of a special term for that happening. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know the term."

"With your nose in your book, I'd think you'd be an expert on the subject by now." Black's tone turned silky and Harry's hackles rose. "I'll give you a choice, Mr. Potter. Ten points from Slytherin, or ten lashes."

Harry knew his face must be red with anger, but he swallowed hard. He could see Frost's face, just the other side of the headmaster, his eyes ablaze. Why should his housemates suffer? "Ten lashes, if you please, sir," Harry said, unable to keep a bitter edge out of his voice. 

"Very well," Black said as if granting Harry a favor. "Approach my desk." He turned on his heel and stalked to the large wooden desk at the front of the room. "Palm down, please."

Harry followed him and placed his right hand, fingers spread, against the varnished surface. Harry could see stripes in the finish where previous blows had gone astray, ghosts of scars like the ones on the back of his hand that he could still make out, where Dolores Umbridge had made him inscribe the words "I will not tell lies."

Surely this couldn't be as bad as that, Harry told himself, as Professor Black transfigured his wand into a fifteen-inch switch. 

"Shut your eyes or cry out, Potter, and it will be another ten," Black said, his eyes glittering cruelly. "Now count." With that, he brought the switch down on the back of Harry's knuckles.

Harry bit down hard on his own teeth, but kept his eyes open. As an angry red line appeared on his hand, he unclenched his jaw enough to say, "One, sir."

Black nodded. "I will not tolerate impertinence in my class, Mr. Potter."

What impertinence? Harry wondered, but before he had the chance to get himself into further trouble by voicing the thought, the second blow fell. This time Harry clenched his fist. "Two, sir."

"Did I say you could close your hand?" Black growled.

"No, sir. You didn't say that was part of the rules, sir."

"The rules." Black gestured with the switch and Harry spread his fingers out again. Black brought the switch down twice more, waiting for Harry's count each time, and then said, "Yes, you're an expert at the rules, aren't you Mr. Potter? At evading them?"

Harry's tongue was tied. Should he say yes or no to that? And hadn't he been good since arriving in 1926? The infractions he had against him in his own time--trespassing, stealing potions ingredients, being out after curfew, impersonating other students, fomenting rebellion--really what had he done here that could compare? "I'm sorry you're displeased, sir," he said.

Black smiled at that, a twisted grimace that made him look as if every one of his 79 years had been a hardship. "Yes, you and the Malfoy boy, no regard for propriety, for authority. I've changed my mind, Potter. Ten points from Slytherin. And sit down."

Harry walked back to his seat, his hand throbbing. He thrust it under his other arm and was surprised to see the headmaster had followed him back to his desk. "I am not finished with you, Mr. Potter. The lesson is about wandless magic. Can you give me a third example?"

Harry took a deep breath before answering, trying hard not to shout his answer. "Yes, sir. Some wizards can perform other spells without a wand."

"Such as?" One of Black's eyebrows crawled malevolently up his forehead.

"Such as Summoning, sir," Harry said.

"And can you demonstrate this talent, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, sir, I can." The defiance was unavoidable.

Black's eyebrow swooped down like a bird of prey. "I doubt that very much, Mr. Potter. The penalty for lying will be much more severe..."

"I'm not lying. Sir."

The headmaster's glower deepened and he stalked back to his desk, where he lay his wand, now back in its normal wand shape, on the surface of the desk. "Very well, Mr. Potter. Please Summon my wand to your hand."

Harry swallowed and reached his open hand toward the wand. "Accio wand!" But nothing happened. Harry told himself to concentrate. "Accio Professor Black's wand!" Still nothing. Harry drew a breath through his teeth. "Accio wand!"

One of the windows shattered, spraying shards of glass all over Shane Hennigan. 

"I don't understand!" Harry said, shocked and frustrated. "It's so easy with my own wand. I can even summon my glasses..."

"Mr. Potter. Twenty points from Slytherin for lack of control. And detention in my office Thursday night for lying in class."

"I'm not lying," he said, before he could stop himself. "Accio book!" He pointed to a book on a shelf behind the headmaster's desk and it zoomed straight for him. He caught it in both hands and slammed it down on his desk. The class gasped. 

"Then the detention shall be for impertinence, Mr. Potter. And one more word from you and I shall not hesitate to use Lingua Lacerta."

Harry bit down on his lips and was silent the rest of the class.

To add to his troubles, that night the skies opened with thunder, lightning and rain, and Barnie cancelled Quidditch practice. After dinner Draco went off to Dueling Club and Harry tromped down the stairs with the others feeling disgruntled. He had been hoping to work off some of the frustration of the day on the pitch. Instead, a ten inch essay on wandless magic awaited him--he still hadn't found out what the phenomenon of underage wizards performing unintentional magic was called.

He would ask Draco later, he decided, and settled into a chair in the common room between Crabbe and Whittington. "Too bad about the weather," he said as he let himself slump into the chair. He rubbed the back of his hand which still stung, the parallel welts still red.

Harry looked up to see Timothy Frost standing before him. "Want to have a go round of Bell, Book, and Candle?" He was smiling but Harry caught an edge of something in his voice.

"Of what?"

"That's an old one, eh?" Whittington sat forward a bit. "It's a game, Harry."

"Yeah, I gathered that..."

"Watch." She held out her fist toward Frost, who did the same. "Bell, book, and candle," they said together, each opening their fingers on the last syllable. Whittington had one finger outstretched, while Frost had his hand cupped in a loose fist. "Blast it." She pushed up the sleeve of her robe. Frost took her by the wrist, licked the tips of his index and middle fingers, and slapped her on the forearm with them. "Merlin and Morgana, Frost," Heather swore. "You didn't have to do it so hard."

She shook her arm and Harry could see the red mark in the shape of two fingers. "So the bell beats candle?"

"Candle beats book, and book beats bell." Frost said. He held up his hand for each word as he said it, the book an open palm. 

It was exactly the same as a game Dudley's friends had forced Harry to play when he was younger, only they had called it rock, paper, scissors, and always managed to cheat somehow so that no matter what Harry did, he ended up with his ears boxed or stuffed in the bushes. After what he had suffered already that day, Harry wasn't much in the mood for corporal punishment, but, well...

"What do you say, Potter?" Frost's attention was back on Harry.

A quick glance at both Crabbe and Whittington showed them to be intrigued but not defensive. "Sure. Okay."

Frost pulled up a chair facing Harry and they began. Frost won the first throw, and Harry rolled up his sleeve. As he suspected, it didn't hurt anywhere near as much as the headmaster's wand had. It didn't take long before each of them had a ladder of red weals climbing his forearm, and Harry began to wonder how the game was supposed to end. If I ask, though, I'll look weak, he realized. He glanced at Whittington, but her gaze told him nothing. 

As the game progressed and Harry's arm became more and more sore, he realized that it was possible the only way the game ever would end would be when one player begged off--presumably making him the loser. A small crowd had gathered around them, watching.

"So, did you start that wandless magic assignment for Black yet?" Frost said as he took Harry's arm to add another stripe. 

"Nah, I'll do it later," Harry replied, wincing as Frost struck him. "He's an unbelievable bastard, though, isn't he?"

Whittington snorted. "Mr. Potter, surely you jest."

Harry chuckled and prepared to shoot. But Frost had given him an idea. Harry knew he could do legilimency without a wand as well. Could he find out from Frost himself how close he was to backing down? Harry looked into Frost's eyes, as Frost took him by the arm again. Harry had lost the throw and handed over his arm limply as he concentrated.

"Bell, book, and candle!" They said together for the next throw, and Harry realized, a moment before he opened his hand for "book" that Frost was about to throw "candle." Harry held his fist closed and won the toss. 

Oh, this was far too easy. He won three in a row that way, and then made sure to lose one, then tie twice in a row before winning twice more. Now that he knew what Frost was thinking, he could see Frost had a tendency to hold his thumb off to the side when he was going to throw candle, on top when he was going to throw book, and against his index finger when he was going to throw bell. Harry broke eye contact and reeled off a string of ten throws in a row all wins or ties--and he did not hold back when dealing out his licks. 

After ten more, Frost began to complain. "Not bloody fair this is," he said while cradling his sore arm. "You got some kind of good luck charm on you, Potter? Oh, I forgot, he's not here, is he."

"What?" Harry said, his grin fading.

"Let you off the leash for tonight, did he? It's not natural the way you follow him around like a pet."

Whittington gripped the arms of her chair but said nothing. The crowd had fallen silent.

"I'm nobody's pet," Harry said.

"That's Malfoy for you, though, taking in stray dogs. Stray mutt-bloods, like you."

"What did you call me?" Harry stood and Frost rose to his feet. Frost was taller by a head, but that didn't worry Harry overmuch.

Whittington spoke from her chair. "What are you on about, Frost? Potter's a wizarding family name."

"He must be a bastard cousin, then," Frost said, without taking his eyes off Harry. "My cousin Lucinda married a Potter and she's never heard of him." He folded his arms. "What would Malfoy say if he knew he kicked a pureblood off the team for the likes of you?"

"You leave Malfoy out of this," Harry said, his voice low.

"Oooh, the dog growls," Frost said and Harry heard titters in the background. 

"Shut it, Frost," Crabbe said, getting to his feet as well. "You know Harry's the better flier, anyway."

Harry waved Crabbe back. "Look, Frost, I don't know what your problem is, but..."

He ducked as Frost took a swing at him. Harry had him on the ground with his wand digging into the taller boy's Adam's Apple before Crabbe or anyone else had a chance to react. Harry wished he had learned Ginny's Bat-Bogey Hex. The only hex he could think of at the moment was the one he'd heard most recently, the newt-in-the-mouth punishment the headmaster liked so much.

He knew he couldn't bring himself to do that to Frost, even though he was angry at having been singled out. But Frost didn't know that. "So, what'll it be, Frost? Lingua Lacerta? Or something else?"

Frost struggled under Harry, but Harry's grip on his robes was too tight. 

"I'm sorry if I took your place as Seeker," Harry said. "I didn't know about any of that when I went to try out." He was highly aware of the stares of the Slytherins around him. "Stingy old Black took away a pile of points from us today," he said, mostly to them. "But I'll get them all back and more when I catch the Snitch this Saturday. If I don't, Frost, you're welcome to challenge me for the job."

Harry let go and stepped back. Frost got to his feet slowly, suppressing his rage.

"I mean it." Harry held out his hand and Frost shook it, nodded, and then left.

Harry sank back down into his chair, while Crabbe enthused. "Bloody amazing, Potter. How did you get him down so fast?"

Harry shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess."

Whittington shook her head while looking in the direction Frost had gone.

Harry sighed. "So, can I ask you something?"

"Sure." She put her feet up in the chair Frost had vacated. "Fire away."

"What's the term for it when an underage wizard does magic, you know, before they have a wand or anything?"

She looked at him curiously. "Did Frost make you think of that?"

"No, no, it's for an essay I have to write." Harry blinked. Why did it seem like everything a Slytherin said or heard was supposed to have some kind of double meaning?

"The term is 'fonticulus fortuitus,'" she said, and Crabbe sniggered.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked.

Crabbe continued to laugh so Whittington answered. "It means 'accidental fountain.' And the same term can be used for, well, I think you can figure that out."

Everything Slytherins say DOES have a double meaning, Harry reminded himself. "Well, I'm going to go and get started on it."

"Harry," she said, as he got to his feet. 

"Yes?"

"Nothing. Do your work and I'll see you tomorrow." She stood as well, shouldering her book bag. "And you better catch the Snitch on Saturday," she added over her shoulder with a smile.

Harry retreated to the room he shared with Malfoy, his arm aching somewhat. He put a numbing spell on it and sat down with his books at the table. Malfoy had covered the crack in the floor with a small blue rug, but the blond wizard liked to sit at the table, kick his boots off, and sink his toes into the pile. The thought of Draco doing that made Harry smile, and he hoped he would hurry back. Harry found he couldn't concentrate much on the essay. His thoughts kept straying to Draco and what he wanted to do once he got home.

Frost's comments still rang in Harry's ears. It worried him a little. If Frost thought he was Malfoy's lap dog, what did the others think? Harry was used to ignoring what people thought of him--after all, he'd been rumored to be crazy, a murderer, Slytherin's heir, and how many other things in the previous six years at Hogwarts. But he didn't want to create more trouble for Draco.

I should tell him about my plan, Harry thought, and resolved to tell him tonight. Then his heart leaped as he heard the latch on the door open.

By the time Draco closed it firmly behind him, Harry was there. As was their custom, Harry pressed Draco's full body against the ancient wood with his own and kissed him deeply. When he pulled back, though, he said "Wow, what happened?"

Draco had the ghost of a black eye under his left eye. "You should have seen what it looked like before. That Ravenclaw oaf, Mardigan, jabbed me with his wand."

"During a duel?"

"He wasn't even my partner," Draco said, Summoning himself a bottle of butterbeer. "He was trying to be fancy with his attack on someone else and got me on the back swing. What a git."

They went to the table, Harry resisting the urge to touch the bruise. "Does it hurt? I know a good numbing spell."

Draco waved his hand dismissively. "It'll be gone by morning. It's already been treated."

Harry chuckled. "Everyone has it in for us today. First Black, then Frost..."

"Frost? What did that git want?"

Harry felt his ears start to redden as he remembered. "He says he could have been Seeker if you hadn't ... er.... done whatever you did. For me."

Draco snorted. "Can't remember whom he owes a favor to, that's what that means."

"He challenged me to a game of Bell, Book and Candle." Harry held out his arm, which was still a bit puffy.

"How juvenile," Malfoy said with a smirk. "Did you like it?"

"Not terribly much. But it was better than Black's class today."

"Yes, I heard you really riled him."

"I didn't mean to, but..." Harry put his head into his hands. "I kept telling myself to stay calm, that it would make things worse for you if I got into trouble. But I ended up with detention anyway."

Draco took one of Harry's hands in his. "I'm touched that you think of me while that old sadist takes it out of your hide."

"You know, sometimes I can't tell when you're being serious and when you're being sarcastic."

"There's a difference?" Draco said in mock surprise as Harry stood.

"Obviously, there's only one solution," Harry said as he put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "And that's take away your ability to talk." He had a flash of the newt-tongue hex and shook his head to dispel it. He bent down and kissed Draco on the throat instead. He was never going to get tired of feeling Draco start to melt under him, he decided. 

"Bed," Draco said.

"See, you're losing your ability already," Harry said. By now he had learned a handful of very useful charms for stripping out of one's robes, lubrication, and the like, so it was mere seconds later that he lay on top of Draco, both of them naked, erect, and hungry. He held both of Draco's wrists in one hand, pressed into the pillow above Draco's head, as he searched for a sensitive spot near Draco's collarbone. Draco could have easily broken the hold if he had struggled in the slightest, but Harry knew he liked it, knew he sank into that feeling of Harry being in control. He only tended to legilimize Draco now once in a while, but he had done it enough to have a good read on Draco's preferences and his signals. 

Harry clamped his mouth over the spot and proceeded to give Draco the darkest hickey he could. Draco moved under him, moaning and thrusting his hips upward. 

"Teach me that sensation spell," Harry said into Draco's ear. "The one you used on me that first night?"

Draco opened his eyes, momentarily confused. "The first... oh, you mean our Moroccan Night of Passion."

"Uh, yes."

"How can that make you blush? After all we've done since?"

Harry didn't know why he was blushing, really. "It's just when you put it like that..."

Draco laughed and Harry smiled. It made him feel good to hear Draco laugh. When the laughter died down, Draco taught him the spell and Harry lay it on him using his own wand. Draco shivered visibly as the spell took hold, Harry still holding his wrists with one hand and running the other up and down his ribs. 

Then he rolled Draco over, letting his teeth gaze over the back of Draco's neck. He licked his hand and slid it underneath, so that Draco's cock was thrusting into the meat of his palm. He put the other hand at the back of Draco's neck and Draco moaned. Then he looked for the spot above Draco's shoulder blade where he had once seen what looked like a bite mark. Right about... there...

Harry sank his teeth into Draco slowly, bit by bit, as Draco's thrusts became harder and more wild, until he punctuated the bite with one sharp twitch of his jaw. Draco began to come, crying out as Harry switched from biting to licking and sucking the sore spot, coming hot and heavy into Harry's hand. Harry was a bit surprised, really, it seemed quite sudden even for Draco, who was not hard to get off. But maybe he had made the spell a bit stronger than necessary. 

Draco now lay limp in his arms, sweat plastering a few strands of his hair to his forehead. "Are you all right?" Harry asked, half-joking.

Draco nodded.

"I told you I'd rob you of your ability to speak."

"You..." Draco gave up and smiled over his shoulder. A few moments later he tried again. "What about you?"

"I still seem to be able to speak fine," Harry said, extricating himself and stroking Draco's hair. 

Draco reached back blindly with one hand and pawed at Harry's erection. 

"This? You want this?"

Draco nodded, crawling in a circle on the bed until he could put his head in Harry's lap. He wasted no time in affixing his mouth to the head of Harry's cock. 

"Do you like it?"

Draco nodded enthusiastically in response.

Harry watched Draco work for a few moments before he said, "You know, Frost called me your lap dog today."

Draco rolled his eyes but did not pause in his task. 

"And the headmaster said something about you, too. He..." Harry had to pause as Draco insinuated a slick finger into Harry's ass. "He was going on about the rules..." And then Draco changed his angle and Harry lost all ability at speech himself.

When they were finished, and lying in one another's arms under the covers, Harry remembered there had been something he was going to tell Draco, but now he couldn't remember what it was.


	9. Chapter Nine

It was the next night during dinner that Harry remembered what it was he had been planning to tell Draco. They were sitting with Crabbe between them, while Draco impugned the Ravenclaws for their ineptitude at dueling, when Heather Whittington strode down from the head table with a message from Professor LeStrange.

"Wants to see you after dinner," she said to Draco, before going on her way to the dungeons. 

Draco acknowledged her with a nod and went on with his story. Last year Dumbledore had told Harry to carry his Invisibility Cloak with him at all times, just in case. Harry still kept it in his book bag out of habit, folded into a side pocket. But his bag was downstairs--he'd left it there since Charms class had ended early due to an unfortunate levitation accident. Harry's mind raced. Would Draco come back to the room before going to see LeStrange, or would he go straight to the professor's office? Would there be time to tell Draco his plan?

Possibly not. Harry excused himself and hurried after Heather toward the dungeons. Down the stairs, through the labyrinthine corridors, then through the hidden door, down to the end of the hall and the room. Harry dug the cloak out of his bag, and put it on. He retraced his steps back toward the Great Hall, but almost to the stairs he heard Draco's voice. They were already on their way to LeStrange's.

Harry hurried after them, trying to move fast yet keep his footsteps silent. They had just gone around a corner. Harry went as fast as he dared, but as he turned the corner, he saw the heavy wooden door to LeStrange's office swing shut. The loud clack of a bolt being thrown resounded in the stone corridor. Harry pressed his ear to the wood, then his wand, muttering the eavesdropping spell. He felt a tingle go through him as someone spell-locked the door, but it did not appear that they cast an Imperturbable spell. He could hear Draco's voice.

"Thank you again, professor," he was saying. "You don't know how much this means to me."

"Trust me, Draco," LeStrange answered in a tone that was entirely too familiar for Harry's taste. "I know all too well what you are going through. Now, if you'll wait here?"

"Of course."

There was then silence, the sound of another door opening and closing, and more silence. To Harry it seemed that the sound of his heart beating was getting louder and louder. Thank you AGAIN? he thought. What is it LeStrange is doing for him? And why doesn't he seem to remember anything later? Or does he? It didn't seem likely Draco lied, since he let him read his mind, but Harry had never actually found out if Draco had been Obliviated or not.

The door opened again with a creak and Harry heard a different voice say "Draco."

And then he felt like ice water ran through his veins as Draco answered. "Reg!"

There were no voices for a while, though there was the rustling of robes. Harry could only imagine what they were doing now. He slumped against the door. The bite mark. Of course. That explained it. That explained everything, didn't it?

No, not everything. It didn't explain why Draco came in only half-conscious with his memory seemingly altered. But Harry couldn't bear to listen at the door any more. If Draco cried out, whether in pleasure or in pain, he didn't think he'd be able to stand it.

He also didn't want to go back to the common room and face Frost, or talk Quidditch. There was an Astronomy section tonight so the tower was out. The library?

A short while later Harry sat in the library and composed another letter to Hermione.

_Dear Hermione:_

_Well, it's been a few weeks,_   
_no word from the Ministry,_   
_and I just don't know what to do._   
_I wish you were here to_   
_think through the situation with me._   
_Honestly, I haven't_   
_been thinking about how to_   
_get back very much at all._   
_It's not that I have so much faith_   
_in the Ministry, but more_   
_that I've made friends and it is_   
_really kind of nice not to_   
_have to worry about_   
_You Know Who while I'm here._   
_Everything's not perfect, though,_   
_and tonight I remembered_   
_I ought to be doing more to try_   
_to get back. You know, even_   
_thinking about you just gave_   
_me an idea. I think I'm finally_   
_going to read Hogwarts: A History._   
_That is, if it's been published_   
_yet. Hope to see you soon._   
_Love,_

_Harry_  


_P.S. Did I mention they put me in Slytherin?_   
_They're not as evil without You Know Who_   
_around and the dungeon is a lot warmer_   
_than you'd think._

 

Then he went in search of Hogwarts: A History, and was gratified to find two copies of a 1925 edition available for circulation. He had to promise, as usual, to suffer horrible hexes and flogging for losing, damaging, or defacing the book in order to remove it from the library, but once he did, he took it back to the dungeon and read it in bed while waiting for Draco to return.

He was sound asleep--having gotten only halfway through the first chapter before he conked out--when the spell-locked door opened and Draco came in. 

"Draco, are you all right?" Harry increased the illumination in the room.

"I'm fine," Draco said in a small voice.

"Do you remember where you've been? What you've been doing?"

"My head hurts."

Harry was out of bed in an instant and helping Draco into his own bed. "Dray, something's wrong."

"Can we talk about it tomorrow? I'm so sleepy." His eyes were closed as he lay back on his pillow. 

"Draco, please." Harry shook him slightly. He didn't want to say he heard him meeting Regulus Black, because he knew it would come out sounding like an accusation. If Draco really didn't remember, then something was very wrong. And if he did remember and was only pretending not to, well, then something else was wrong, something Harry didn't want to think about. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes, Harry." Draco draped his arms over Harry's shoulders and tried to pull him into the bed, too. "Please lie down."

"Dray, you're still dressed and you're acting weird."

"So undress me. I taught you the charm. I'm too... woozy to do it myself." His arms slid from Harry and he lay like a rag doll, unmoving save his chest rising to breathe. 

Harry left him in his clothes, suddenly not wanting to see if there were any new bite marks. And what if Reg had seen the hickey Harry had left? Did he know? Harry backed away from the bed.

"Good night, Draco," he said, even though it was clear that Malfoy was deeply asleep. Harry climbed into his own bed, put the history book aside, and put his glasses next to his wand on the night stand. The bed felt abnormally large without Draco there with him, but Harry ignored the impulse to give up and crawl in with Draco. He told himself they would sort everything out in the morning, and he kept telling himself that until he fell asleep.

 

As it turned out, there was little time to talk in the morning, and it wasn't until they were in History of Magic that Harry, needing something to keep him awake and unable to keep his feelings bottled up any longer, wrote a short note on a piece of paper and slid it over to Malfoy.

Do you remember last night?

Draco wrote back, in flowing script: Why, did I miss something fun?

Harry shook his head. Wrote: You disappeared with Prof. L. again.

Draco frowned and he rubbed the spot where his eyebrows came together. I don't remember. He glanced up at Binns, who was droning and hovering as usual. Draco pointed at his head then at Harry. 

Harry looked confused. Draco pointed to Harry's wand pocket in his robes, then back at his own head.

"Now?" Harry whispered.

Draco nodded, an urgent look in his eyes. Harry glanced around. No one seemed to be paying them any attention. Harry put his wand in his lap, point aimed at Draco, and whispered the incantation. 

The memory was fresh, the walk from the Great Hall, Professor LeStrange bantering with one of his favorite students, Draco responding with wit, the door opening, then closing.

Inside LeStrange's office, everything seemed foggy, and Harry knew that Draco's memory had been tampered with. He could see flashes of LeStrange, pouring a drink? A snatch of his voice. "Looking forward to graduation?" "Happy to help with your NEWTs." And an apology, though Harry couldn't tell what it was for. Things Harry had definitely not heard the night before. 

Where was Regulus Black? Was it possible for Draco to be hiding the real memory from Harry somehow? He hated that thought, but he wasn't a very practiced Legilimens, no matter how often he'd ridden Draco's thoughts while making love to him. The suspicion hurt, like a spike in the chest, and he winced as he disengaged from Draco's mind.

Are you just suspicious because of the Malfoy you know in the future? Harry asked himself. 

Draco raised his eyebrows as if to say Well?

Harry wrote on the parchment. Tell you later.

That evening after Quidditch practice he lagged behind on the way back up to the castle when he saw that Whittington was bringing up the rear. He even paused to re-tie his already tied shoelaces--prompting a comment from her about his odd footwear and enlarging the gap between them and the others.

"So, Whittington," Harry said as they began the climb. It was almost too dark to see. "You told me once to ask you later about the headmaster and Malfoy."

"I might have done," she replied evenly.

"Well, it's later." When she didn't say anything after a few steps, Harry went on. "I'm worried about him."

"Draco is Draco," she said with what sounded like a shrug. "But you have some idea by now what kind of... trouble he and Reg got into?"

"Um," Harry was glad the darkness would hide his blush. "Your question to him about the Astronomy Tower made it pretty clear, didn't it? "

"You'd be surprised what people will ignore when it suits them," Heather said. "But yeah, anyway, they got a bit too close for the headmaster's comfort, if you know what I mean."

"And in the end, he sent Regulus away rather than risk them ... seeing each other anymore?"

"Yes." She stopped moving forward and Harry had to back up a step to stay even with her on the walkway. "Potter, there's something you should know."

Harry waited.

"If you're... look. I know you and Draco are close."

Harry felt his heart begin to hammer.

"And I know how he can be very... engrossing."

"I'm not star-struck by him, if that's what you mean..." Harry began.

"That's not what I mean. Listen, I don't care what you do with him or don't do with him when you're together. Most of us accept Draco's ... interests." By 'us' Harry knew she meant the Slytherins. "But he has that suspicion on him, and by spending so much time with him, well, it's bound to reflect on you."

And here Harry had thought they'd been so careful lately not to seem as if they wanted to spend every waking moment glued together. "He's my best friend," Harry said, because he had to say something.

"That may be all well and good, Potter," she said gently, "But I'm suggesting you at least cultivate some ... outside interests to throw arseholes like Timothy Frost off your scent."

Harry tried to imagine himself chatting up Anisette Fogg for the sake of appearances and could only imagine it being a disaster. "I've always been rubbish at talking to women," Harry said, then realized how that might sound. "I mean, especially girls I like. My tongue goes all rubbery and I ..."

Whittington put her hand on his arm. "It doesn't have to be a girl you actually like. And it won't take much to get the rumors started."

"What do you mean?"

"Come here." She pulled him close.

"Heather, I..."

"It's okay, Harry. It's not going to hurt either of us, is it?" She slid her hands under his ears and pulled his face to hers. The kiss was tentative at first, but after a moment she grew bolder and kissed him until they were both breathless. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I..." Harry's head was spinning with the kiss and with the implications of everything Heather had just said. If she were being sincere about wanting to help him, it still implied she and others suspected that he and Malfoy had more than just a friendship, and he would have to deal with that. And if she weren't sincere? What if this entire scene were just because she was trying to gauge for herself what was going on between him and Draco? If he responded less than enthusiastically, would she suspect? His inner Slytherin hissed--two could play at that game. "Don't you think a hickey would be more convincing?"

"On you or on me?"

"Both," Harry said. "And we need to arrive at the common room almost but not quite together, to make it look as if we're trying to make it look like we weren't just ..." He broke off as Heather attached her mouth to his neck, raising a welt and then licking it with her tongue while Harry moaned. He could feel his cock twitch under his trousers. He ignored it, but found it more insistent when he switched to licking and sucking her. He couldn't help it, in his mind, it was Draco's neck he was savaging, and when he pulled away he was panting, his lips swollen and other parts of him as well.

"Oi!" Barnie called from above them on the path, his wand tip lit. "Everything all right down there?"

"Yeah, we're coming," Harry called. "Just had to, er, tie my shoe." He lit the tip of his own wand and they began walking again. He undid the top button his shirt for good measure. As they were about to step into the Entrance Hall, he said. "So, how do I look?"

"Well, your hair's always a mess, but I'd say you look suitably ravished. Me?" She tossed her hair in mock vanity.

"Jesus, Whittington," Harry said, seeing the purple and black blossom he'd made on her neck for the first time. "I might have overdone it..."

"I bruise easy," she said with a smile. "All right. I'll go first. You come in a minute later."

He nodded, trailing her through the hall, down the stairs. After she went through the doorway into Slytherin, he counted to thirty, then went in after her. 

She was there, her hand over the mark on her throat as she stood nodding at something Carrow was saying, but Harry could see Anisette and a few of the other girls looking at her and giggling. Anisette's eyes suddenly turned Harry's way and her hand flew to her mouth. Harry looked away from her, buttoning his shirt button self-consciously, and hurrying toward the hallway to the room, still half-looking back at Heather, at Anisette, at the other eyes that had noted his entrance and, presumably hers. 

Yes! He felt a surge of success--the plan seemed to have worked--and then came up short. 

Blocking the entry to the hall was Malfoy, a hand on either side of the stone-carved entryway, leaning forward so that his hair obscured one eye. The other eye stared at Harry. 

"How was Quidditch practice," Malfoy said in a voice that projected low malice.

"Fine. We're definitely going to beat Gryffindor," Harry said with forced cheerfulness.

Malfoy gave a jerk of his head and went toward the room, Harry following obediently. This time, when the door closed behind them, it was Malfoy who thrust Harry up against the door, and instead of kissing him, merely growled, "What are you up to?"

"I'm sorry," Harry said, suddenly struck by how hard it was to make a sneaky plot sound sincere. "I didn't really... that is, we were just trying to make it look like we have a thing. But we don't. It was Whittington's idea."

"Whittington's idea."

Harry's heart was leaping in his chest like a fish. He'd never seen Draco angry, and to have that anger directed at him, to have caused it... he shook his head as if to clear it. "Listen. She suspects."

"And you decided ravishing her would throw her off the trail?" Draco sneered, eyes narrowed in disbelief. 

Harry was stunned by how familiar that expression looked. "No. She decided. Said it would be a good idea to at least start the rumor, so jerks like Frost ..."

"I don't want to hear it," Draco said, pressing Harry back into the door harder. "Do you hear me?"

"Dray, you're the one who said she came on strong..."

"I said 'shut up,' Potter!" He gave one more vicious shove, knocking Harry's head against the wood, but Harry had had enough of Draco's irrationality. 

Harry shoved back and shouted, "Is this jealousy, Malfoy? Can't stand the thought of sharing me? Well, I'm not so keen to share you, either!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Draco looked as if he might charge Harry at any moment. 

"Besides, didn't you promise Regulus you'd wait for him? I never promised you anything."

Draco squeezed his eyes shut then, his head bowed as if fighting off pain, but the sight only aroused Harry's anger more than his sympathy.

"You're two-timing the both of us," Harry hissed. "I know it. I know LeStrange is helping you meet with him. I didn't blame you for doing it. I wasn't angry about it, until now."

Draco looked up with shock and confusion in his eyes. "What on earth are you on about, Potter?" His pale skin looked even paler.

"I followed you, last night, when you went with LeStrange," Harry said, turning his back on Draco so he wouldn't have to see the cacophony of emotions that played across that face. "I followed you and I eavesdropped because I was worried about you. So I know you met Regulus Black."

"I what?"

Harry turned back at the rasp of Draco's voice, at what sounded like terror squeezing Draco's throat. Draco sank to his knees where he stood. 

"Dray..."

Draco looked up and met Harry's eyes. "What did you see when you legilimized me today?"

Harry took a deep breath, trying to shove his anger back down. "Your memory of what happened last night was definitely altered."

"And you say I met... Reg?" His arms crossed in front of him, as if he were hugging himself. 

"I heard it. That's what you called him." Harry gave in. He knelt by Draco but didn't touch him, yet. "You thanked LeStrange for helping you again, like you'd done it before, and he said he understood what you were going through. Then he went out of the room and Regulus came in."

Draco stared into Harry's eyes. "And then what?"

"And then ... well, I can't be sure. You stopped talking. And I quit listening." He was suddenly aware of how flushed his face was. First the chill air outside, flying, then Heather's kisses, then the still, warm air of the dungeons, then Malfoy's anger, then his own... and deep in his groin he still ached, as well. "I think you've been Obliviated," he said then, since Draco hadn't replied. "Your memory has definitely been altered."

Draco rubbed his forehead in his palm. "You're saying I'm secretly meeting with Reg, and then I'm forgetting about it?"

"I don't know who's doing it, you, Reg, LeStrange?" Harry pressed his hands together to have something to do with them. "I know it doesn't make sense, but that's the facts as they stand."

Draco began to quake, doubling over, his face a rictus of emotion. "Harry, I..." He crumpled completely to the ground. Harry slid closer to him and ran his hand over Draco's shoulder, caressing him until Draco stopped shaking. When his voice came, it was small and tremulous. "I wanted you to know, but I didn't know how to explain. And I wanted you to help, but at the same time, I didn't."

"You're confusing me, Dray, and it hurts," Harry said simply.

"All right, all right." Draco struggled into a sitting position and ran his hands over his face. "You already know that when Reg left, he asked me to... to wait."

"I saw it in your memories, the first time I legilimized you."

"Well, the next day, LeStrange came to me and said he would help me. He told me Reg is at some kind of sanitorium but that he could arrange for him to floo, once in a while, and that he'd let us see each other that way."

Harry's voice came out colder than he intended. "So, you have been two-timing us both."

"No! There's more. What did you see in my memory of LeStrange's office?"

Harry thought about it. "Just fragments. Some banter about exams, career stuff. That's it. Oh, and he apologized for something."

Draco took Harry's hands in his. "I remember the first visit more clearly. That one, we sat in his office sipping firewhisky and waiting, and eventually it became clear that Reg was not going to show up. LeStrange eventually showed me out and told me he would try to find out what happened. Well, he didn't find out, or didn't explain, and we tried it again another time. Again Reg did not show up." Here he took a deep breath. "I might have tried a third time, around when you came along, I can't remember exactly when. Still no Reg."

Harry felt Draco squeeze his hands. "I know it doesn't make sense. But I began to get angry at him, for standing me up like that. Merlin and Morgana, I miss him so much, Harry..."

"It's okay," Harry said. "It's okay."

Draco went on. "I started to think he was toying with me. That he didn't really love me."

Harry was silent, but Draco read the shocked look in Harry's eyes.

"Reg could be... complicated," Draco said, and Harry nodded, feeling at that moment like perhaps he appreciated how Draco felt. Slytherins make the best complicated lovers. "And here you practically fell into my lap." He managed half a laugh. "Harry, do you have any idea how much I wanted you, right from that very first day?"

Harry felt his lips tingle at the thought. "At the time, I didn't know what to make of it, but now, yeah, I think I do."

Draco made a choking sound as he steeled himself to go on. "I... I wanted you so much I almost resorted to a potion. Almost." He could no longer look into Harry's eyes as he spoke. "I snuck some out of Gullwing's class, Heart's Delight, and laced your glass with it."

Harry had forgotten all about the night Draco had poured him a glass of cassis liqueur and then drunk it himself after Harry'd had only a tiny sip, but that had to be it. "The cassis," he said.

Draco nodded. "But I knew it would be ... wrong. It wouldn't be what I wanted, ultimately."

Harry held his breath,

"Because even though I was lonely, and horny, and wanted you, and wanted to hurt Reg... I didn't want to destroy... that is, if there was any chance..." Draco sputtered. He finally settled on: "You can't know how surprised and relieved I was when you made the first move."

Harry hardly felt like he could be said to have made the first move given that the Truth-or-Dare kiss, the public spanking, nearly drugging him with an aphrodisiac, giving him a broom, arranging him a spot on the Quidditch team, and who knew what else all took place before Harry's impulsive kiss that evening by the lake. But Draco was still speaking.

"And I tried to ..." Now Draco did look up, again. "I didn't expect you to take charge like you have. Not that that makes me guiltless," he added quickly, though his eyes narrowed a bit as he went on. "Or you either, since once you read my mind, you knew, too."

Harry had forgotten that. He had buried his guilty feelings over that easily under the avalanche of feelings he had for Draco. But he tried to focus on the mystery at hand. "So you took me up on my... offer... while you thought Reg was rejecting you," Harry said. "But now it seems like you are seeing him. You're just not remembering it."

Draco bent miserably over, his face in his hands. "It doesn't make sense," he said, through his fingers. He lay his head in Harry's lap then, his eyes dry but he trembled again slightly. "If Reg is meeting me, then why in my memories is he standing me up? And why lately do I not even have those memories? I was telling myself at first it was the firewhisky, and then that it was because it was too painful to remember."

Harry stroked Draco's hair. "That is possible, I suppose," he said. "Even Muggles can sometimes block out painful memories. But can you think of another reason? To hide it from the headmaster, maybe? Or LeStrange, wanting to hide his role in it?"

Malfoy shook his head. "No, then I wouldn't remember the first few times. I remember him trying to help me which is just as bad as him helping me. The headmaster, well, that bears thinking about, I suppose." He went rigid under Harry's hands then.

"What?" Harry asked.

"When Reg left, he talked about this being his only chance. His only choice. I thought it was dramatics at the time--I was upset, too--but he might be serious." Draco looked up into Harry's face. "I think Phineas Nigellus Black might rather have a dead grandson than a gay one."

Harry swallowed.

"It's the only thing that makes sense. Reg still wants to see me, still needs me, but if his grandfather found out what we are doing, if he forced me or legilimized me, he'd be dead. So he or LeStrange are wiping my memory to protect Reg."

Harry clutched Draco's shoulders. "That's terrible, Dray."

"It's the only thing that makes sense," he said again. "Even if it does leave me lonely and heartbroken. At least Reg is..." His throat became too tight to speak.

"But you're not lonely," Harry whispered.

Draco looked up. "No. Thanks to you." He rolled over to face Harry better. "I'm sorry about getting so upset about you and Whittington. Hellfire, Harry, maybe I ought to encourage you to ... get out more ..."

"Quit it already with the self-sacrifice," Harry said with a smirk. "It does not suit you."

Draco put his arms around Harry's neck. "I was absolutely enraged to think about you with someone else."

"If you don't want me to, I won't," Harry said, spurred by the jolt of emotion that went through him to hear Draco's possessiveness stated so bluntly. Draco wanted him for himself. That thought would have scared Harry once, but now it was answered by a fierce echo in his own heart. "I only want you," he breathed, as Draco pulled him down. "When I kissed Whittington, you know it was you I thought about."

"So that boner you've been sporting since you came in really is for me?" Draco whispered with his lips against Harry's. 

"Yes," Harry hissed, suddenly eager to get out of his clothes, to get Draco out of his. He pulled at his belt, pushing Draco onto his stomach. He didn't even disrobe completely, neither of them did, before he slicked Draco's ass with a quick lubrication charm and slid a finger inside. Draco pushed back into the penetration with a deep groan. 

"Don't make me wait," Draco rasped.

Harry didn't, pressing through the brief resistance of Draco's muscles to sheathe his cock deep. Draco sighed, then gasped as Harry pulled him backward, so they were both on their knees, Draco nearly in Harry's lap and their shirts and robes pooling around them. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's torso and thrust upward into him. Draco's head fell back over Harry's shoulder and his hands slid down on top of Harry's. His right continued downward, snaking under the edge of his shirt to his own cock. As he stroked it, he clenched tighter and Harry moved his hands to Draco's hips, slamming him downward into the thrusts. 

"I wish I had three hands," Harry said into Draco's ear, "So I could do this and jerk you off at the same time."

Draco whimpered in answer.

"Tell me when you're going to come, and I'll come, too." Harry slowed the rhythm a bit, lengthening the stroke and deepening his breaths.

"Harry..." Draco said, almost a whisper, his hand flying up and down his cock now under the shirt, "Ha..." 

But he did not need to say more. Harry felt the convulsive ripples tightening Draco inside as he came, and he doubled his speed, then tripled it for the last few strokes until his own convulsive ripples took over. He flattened Draco beneath him, milking out two, three last long strokes, legs shuddering, until he collapsed as well in a tangle of sweaty limbs and clothes.

By reflex of long practice they rolled over together, Harry spooning Draco with his arm over his chest as his now-soft penis slipped free. Harry felt a bit like drifting off to sleep, but he knew they weren't quite finished.

"Dray," he said in a soft voice.

"Hm?"

"I... I know Reg was here first. He probably wouldn't be happy about me. And I..." It was easiest to admit this when he felt he had just laid his claim. "I'm not keen on sharing you, you know. But that's not why I'm worried about what happens the next time you go to LeStrange's."

Draco stiffened a little in Harry's arms.

"I think we need to know what is going on, for sure. You're far too out of it when you come from there for a normal memory charm and I'm worried."

"Maybe it's because it's being done repeatedly?"

"Could be. But I think I should be there next time."

"What do you mean 'be there'?"

Harry bit his lip. "I have an invisibility cloak. I can follow you, and ..." he had been about to say 'protect you if I need to' but realized that would make it sound all the more like he wanted to challenge Reg Black for him. "I'll just watch, so we'll really know what is happening to you."

Draco entwined his fingers in Harry's. "I'm not sure I can... I mean, if Reg and I are..."

Harry ran his hand up Draco's chest and under his chin, pulling his head back. "Maybe I'll learn something new that you like," he growled in Draco's ear. Part of him was intensely curious to see what sex between two wizards raised in the wizarding world was like. 

"All right," Draco agreed. "All right. The next time I get the summons from LeStrange, come with me. Now can we please get off the floor? Honestly, Potter, is there a reason why you can never bugger me in the bloody bed?"


	10. Chapter 10

Thursday morning, Harry opened the door into the hall and nearly tripped over a pile of small packages there, then nearly fell as Draco ran into him. 

"Ah, here you go, Potter," Draco said, helping Harry to bring the gifts in. "From your admirers."

"Admirers?"

"Yes. It's your first match as a Slytherin on Saturday, remember?"

"Oh." Harry had never received gifts from Gryffindors for playing Quidditch, and he felt fairly sure that if he ever did, it would have been after a match--a winning match--not before. Did the Slytherins in his day do this? He didn't know.

"Well, come on, take a look. If any of them have cards you'll want to know who to nod to in the Great Hall or in class today." Draco settled into a chair. "Let's skip breakfast so you can have a look at all these." 

"Er, right. Not all of us are accustomed to being treated like royalty, you know," Harry said with a smile.

"Naturally," Draco said, setting a few of the packages upright.

Harry began unwrapping the packages. The first few were all sweets of various kinds, none with cards. One was a velvet-lined box which contained four chocolates formed in the shape of the Snitch, dusted with gold. When Harry picked one out of the box to get a better look at it, two tiny, spun sugar wings sprouted and the sweet fluttered into the air, hovering in front of his face.

"Open your mouth," Draco said. 

Harry did, and the little Snitch flew onto Harry's tongue and settled. Harry bit down on it to find it was filled with something liquidy and tart. "That's brilliant," he said, after swallowing. He offered the box to Malfoy, who declined, so Harry put the lid back on the box to save the rest for later.

Next was something in a beautifully faceted crystal bottle, which did have a card explaining it was for post-match sore muscles. "It's from Whittington," Harry said, handing the card to Draco.

"She's not very subtle, is she?" Draco looked at Harry over the top of the card.

"What do you... oh, you think she wants to be the one to, um, rub me down with it?"

Draco merely arched an eyebrow.

Harry picked up the last of the packages, the largest, about the size of one of his shoes, wrapped in green silk and tied with an ornate bow. He slid the knot out of the bow and the silk slid flat on the table--perhaps it was charmed to do so--revealing a pair of fingerless gloves in black with a stripe of green trim at the wrist. Harry picked them up. The hide was supple to the touch, the palms subtly padded without being bulky, and they fit his hands perfectly as he slipped them on. Harry looked for a card, but did not find one. 

"Who could have sent these?" he wondered aloud. "It feels sort of like leather, but..."

Draco ran his fingers over Harry's gloved palm. "Bicorn hide, maybe," he said, then examined the ribbon, the cloth. "Hmmm." He snapped the cloth as if shaking dust from it then, and a glittering script appeared.

"'Welcome to our house,'" Draco read aloud. "'G.L.' They're from LeStrange, Harry." He turned the cloth so Harry could see it, just as the glittering words faded. "So, Whittington, and LeStrange."

"What am I going to say to Heather?"

"It's probably best if you acknowledge her in a hallway, when one of you is going one way and the other, the other. But since you're incredibly good at seeming oblivious, if you have to speak, 'thank you' is probably plenty. If she presses the issue, well..." Draco winced, as Harry punched him in the upper arm. "Fine! Deal with her on your own!" But he laughed and then levitated all Harry's gifts from the table to Harry's bed with one fluid waft of his wand. "Now, let's eat."

Harry still did not know if Draco had a secret arrangement with the house elves, or if in-room service was something one could arrange with enough money or influence, but he didn't much care when croissants still hot from the oven, crocks of fresh butter, and soft-boiled eggs appeared on the table. 

He didn't see Heather until lunch in the Great Hall, and he tried Draco's suggestion that he nod to her. She was across the table and several seats over, which Harry felt was a safe distance. He caught her eye, gave her what he considered his best Queen of England nod, and was somewhat taken aback when in return she winked and gave him an anticipatory, knowing smile. Jeez, Harry thought. I didn't even speak to her and I gave her the wrong idea. Bloody Slytherins. 

But the bloody Slytherins were making him feel like king of the world, wishing him luck, wearing ribbons with his name on them (as well as those of the other players), and pouring his pumpkin juice for him. He hadn't even played yet, but they made him feel confident, accomplished, like he was the best. Deep down he knew that if he failed, they would treat him quite differently, but Harry had never been one to fear failure. A part of him wondered, would the strategies be different enough in 1926 that he might make a fatal mistake? Doubtful. Something to think about, but not fret over.

If Harry fretted about anything, it was that tonight would be his detention with the headmaster. If I could survive Occlumency lessons with Snape and the blood quill with Umbridge, surely I can survive this, he thought. He was due at Black's office at 7pm sharp. With the six o'clock dinner hour, Harry figured he had plenty of time to eat and get to the spiral staircase that led to the headmaster's office. At 6:45, he was picking up his book bag and preparing to say goodbye to Draco, when he saw Whittington striding toward them from the front of the room.

"Oh, no, not tonight," he said under his breath, but Draco made no sign if he heard him. 

"LeStrange wants to see you," she said, predictably, to Draco, as she passed. 

Draco flicked a glance at Harry. "You had better go to your detention, Potter," he said, standing up.

"But ..."

Draco shot him a warning glance. There was no time to talk about it, no time to argue. He strode off toward the doors of the hall, and Harry, a few moments later followed. Draco was just reaching the stairs down as Harry came into the entrance hall, turning reluctantly toward the stairs up and the headmaster's office.

When he reached Black's office, he was, to say the least, surprised that the first thing Phineas Nigellus Black did was invite him to sit in a wing-backed chair in his office. Harry even did a double take as the man offered him something from the candy dish--though it looked like all he had were tiny pills of black licorice, proving that he was by no means Dumbledore in disguise. Harry declined, feeling a pang as he thought about the headmaster he had known best.

"A little business first, Mr. Potter," Black said, taking his seat behind his desk and pausing to clear his throat noisily. "I had a message from the Ministry today."

"Yes, sir?" Harry felt a surge of conflicting emotions. If only there were a way for the Ministry to send him back before he had to serve this detention... but then he would miss Quidditch.

And Draco.

"They are still working on your problem, and they wanted me to tell you that an official will be visiting here on Tuesday next to renew the geas. Apparently the spell tends to fade over time, so they will be sending someone to bolster it." Black popped a licorice into his mouth and pursed his lips as though he disliked the flavor as well.

"I haven't noticed it diminishing, sir," Harry said.

"You've been testing it?" Black exclaimed. "Trying to defy it against all logic and good sense? I knew from the moment I saw you, Potter, that you would be a troublemaker--and it would seem I was right."

"No, sir," Harry sputtered. "I haven't been trying at all. It just sometimes activates..."

"Silence your drivel! It is clear to me, Mr. Potter, that you need to learn a lesson."

Not the newt in the mouth, Harry silently pleaded, as Black picked up his wand and stalked around the desk. 

"Mr. Potter. It would seem that tonight we had best work on your obedience. You will follow my instructions to the letter, or you will suffer the consequences."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, frozen in his chair.

"Now, follow me. We'll Floo to the Room of Correction. Leave your bag here." He held out the tin of floo powder and scrutinized Harry as he took a handful and stepped to the fireplace. "Room of Correction," Black prompted, with rather more relish in his voice than Harry would have liked to hear.

Harry found himself stumbling out of the hearth into a pitch black room. He felt for his wand in his robes, but then the headmaster followed and a dozen torches in sconces flared to life as he stepped into the room.

It was a square room about the size of a classroom, entirely dungeon stone with no windows, and as far as Harry could tell, no doors either. Two walls were lined with dark wooden shelves and cabinets, and in the middle of the floor he could see what looked like various medieval torture devices, including a rack and an Iron Maiden.

They're there for show, Harry told himself. They're there to freak you out. He can't be serious...

"Mr. Potter. If you would kindly stand over here." Black indicated a black stretch of wall between two sconces. Harry swallowed when he saw there were actually two manacles hanging from chains driven into the stone. But they remained still and Harry merely stood, about a foot from the wall, facing Black.

"Now, if you would, hold your hands out at your sides, arms straight. Turn your palms down, please."

Harry reached out his arms.

"Hold that pose, please," said Black. "You are not to move until I say so. Now, I am sure you would like to know what the penalty for failure is."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, trying not to grit his teeth.

"I would like to think that Slytherins in particular would be sensitive to the exigencies which make necessary the structure under which our system of discipline must operate," Black intoned, his wand held behind his back in his habitual lecturing pose. "For the first infraction tonight, you will receive ten lashes to the back of your hand. The second, when it comes, will be ten strokes across the inside of your thigh."

Harry felt himself blush and hoped that he was already red enough from anger that it didn't show or that the torchlight hid it. 

"The third infraction--and you must understand that if it comes to that point your penalty must be exponentially increased--let's see, hmmm. What could be suitable?" He pursed his lips as if thinking long and hard, yet Harry was sure he had decided well in advance what the penalties would be. "Ah yes, I have it. You shall be barred from Quidditch for a month."

Harry twitched, but held his composure. This threat, unlike the Iron Maiden, was wholly believable.

"Yes, Potter," Black said, his voice dropping to a vicious growl. "I know you've got a tough hide. Who knows, you might even enjoy a little switching."

Harry swallowed, trying hard to keep his facial expression impassive. Could the Headmaster know about Draco spanking him?

"Yes, I know what you're thinking," the headmaster said, but Harry relaxed slightly when it was clear he didn't actually know what Harry was thinking when he said, "You're thinking that I really know how to hurt you. Missing Quidditch will be much more painful than a mere switching, won't it?"

He talks like I've already lost, like he knows I'm going to Harry thought. He told himself that was part of the mind game, though. Of course it was. His arms were beginning to get tired and he wondered what Black was going to order him to do.

Black watched him for several long moments. "Very well." He then took what looked like two marbles from the interior pocket of his robes, set one on the back of Harry's right hand, in the hollow between the knuckle of his index finger and second finger, then did the same with the left. "I'll know when you drop one of those. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some other matters to attend to." With that, Black returned to the floo and left.

So this was the test. He had ordered Harry not to move and it was up to Harry to obey. Harry's arms were already feeling tired, the muscles in his shoulders tensing as an ache began to build. What little Harry had learned in Black's class mostly had to do with the way a wizard's will shaped and projected his magic. And this was a battle of wills.

Only this was a battle between Harry's will and himself. Was it possible for him to reach a point where physically he actually could not hold his arms up any longer? He supposed after a few days he would have to collapse from hunger or lack of sleep, but the detention was to last only the evening. How many hours could he hold his arms up before the muscles would fail?

After twenty minutes he began to appreciate how devious Black was. The pain in his shoulders was starting to spread down his arms toward his elbows. The longer he stood that way, the worse it was going to get. The longer Harry held out, the more he would suffer. And yet, if he let a ball drop, he would suffer, too, but in a different way.

Harry clenched his jaw. The worst suffering of all would be confirming for Black that he was right, that Harry would certainly give in. He's going to make me suffer no matter what, Harry thought. If I pass this test, win this round, he'll just come up with something else, won't he?

But that's no reason to give in, he argued with himself. He flexed his shoulders slightly, keeping his hands perfectly still but moving one shoulder forward, then the other. His nerves were screaming now and he knew not even an hour had gone by. 

He tried to distract himself by thinking about other things. What was Draco doing right now? He suppressed a shudder. Would Draco return in the wee hours, his brain addled again? Harry felt his anger rising. He should be there for Draco. Suspicion nagged at him. Did the Headmaster know something? No, of course not. He had assigned this detention days ago, and Draco only just got the summons tonight...

What if he and Regulus Black really were meeting clandestinely, and Black was removing Draco's memories to protect him, as Draco supposed? Did it even make sense for Harry to interfere with that? Was Regulus Black in love with Draco Malfoy?

Harry suddenly swallowed. And if he was? What was Harry? He pressed his eyes closed, grimacing against the pain in his arms, emitting a wordless sound of frustration. His arms shook, but the balls did not fall, and Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

Think about something else! He thought about Hogwarts: A History, which was in his bag upstairs in the headmaster's office. If only he could be reading it right now. What secrets of Hogwarts Castle might it tell him that might explain his situation? And even if it didn't, it would be better than standing here in agony because the headmaster wanted to be a right prick.

Think it through, Harry, he said to himself, and the thought sounded even in his mind a little like Hermione's voice. He had been in the corridor outside the Potions classroom, the same classroom that was still in use in his day as it had been decades, maybe centuries earlier. He was sure Crabbe hadn't done anything but shove him. There was no feeling of a spell or hex, and Crabbe wasn't likely to be subtle anyway. There had been that painting, a painting with no one in it.

Harry straightened slightly. Was that painting there now? He hadn't noticed and he hadn't ever gone to check. In fact, was that alcove even there now? He hadn't been down that hallway since being changed from Potions to Theory of Magic, and it occurred to him now how stupid he had been not to have looked.

Hogwarts: A History mentioned there were some corridors that appeared and disappeared, and certainly he'd heard the warnings in his own time about them, but Harry had been under the impression that most of those were not in areas that students frequented. Otherwise you'd have students going missing all the time. The only student he knew who did in his time had been Montague, into the Vanishing Cabinet. 

The cabinet that Draco--the other Draco--had used to allow the Death Eaters into the school. That thought sent Harry on a spiraling stream of consciousness, about Dumbledore, the Horcruxes, Snape, and back to Malfoy. Where was he now? Harry supposed that Snape and he were with Voldemort, terrorizing Muggles, brewing poisons, wreaking general havoc...

The pain was shooting down his sides, now. He wished he knew how much time had passed. He wondered if, when the time came, he could kill Snape. Well, to get that chance, he would need to return to his own time, and get on with it. Harry resolved to go and have a look at the corridor outside the Potions classroom as soon as he could. If the painting were a portrait, he might even be able to ask the occupant of the frame about things.

Now that he had decided on an action, the time spent standing perfectly still was even more agonizing. Harry guessed that about two hours had gone by, and he was beginning to sweat, his arms starting to tremble of their own accord. He moved his shoulders again, then tensed and relaxed the muscles in his arms, over and over, to get some circulation going. 

Black was never coming back. He was going to leave Harry there to rot forever.

Harry shook his head. Where did that thought come from? He looked at the small glass balls. Were they spelled to make him despair, too? Or was it just that the pain was getting so bad, it was starting to become difficult to think straight?

Battle of wills, Harry reminded himself. And if there was one thing he always was, it was strong-willed. His recent feats of wandless magic proved that.

Wandless magic... Harry knew wizards could not fly, not without broomsticks or another charmed object like a carpet, but they could levitate up to about five feet off the ground. He'd learned that not from Black's textbook but from "Quidditch Through the Ages." Still, applying a little Theory of Magic... could he levitate his arms, without his wand and without overdoing it so that he floated upward, just enough to relieve the pressure? Black had just said not to move, he didn't say not to use magic. Would Wingardium Leviosa work? Harry wondered. That charm seemed more aimed at objects than at one's own self. What about levitating the marbles and letting his arms down? No, he might move the marbles too much, and it pleased him to think he might be able to beat Black at his own game--if he could magically levitate his arms, technically he would still be following the instructions not to move.

Now if only he could figure out a way to do it. Harry wracked his brain. He had read half the Theory of Magic text now, and knew, in principle, that he should be able to create a suitable incantation. Was there a common word used in spells aimed at a wizard's own self? Ipsum, that certainly came up a lot. And ego, too, but ipsum seemed the more common... Would "ipsum leviosa" work? Leviosa ipsum? And why were spells in Latin anyway? He remembered Tonks once packing his trunk, albeit haphazardly, with the simple command "pack!" Thinking over how mangled the results had been gave him reservations about trying something in English now. 

So, Latin. If Ipsum Leviosa would levitate him, what would it take just to levitate his arms? How the hell did you say arms in Latin? Hermione probably knew. He wracked his brains once more. Well, hand was something like manu or mano, right? Like manual labor. 

So, Ipsum Manus Leviosa. He licked his lips, and said aloud "Here goes nothing." He closed his eyes and concentrated on the weight and length of his arms, making the pain worse. "Ipsum Manus Leviosa," he intoned, then snapped his eyes open.

It worked. It actually worked. He found himself breathing hard, both from the effort of making the spell work and the fact that his chest muscles were suddenly free to move. His arms were weightless, yet he could hold them still, the glass balls never moving appreciably.

Harry barked out a laugh. In Black's detention he had probably just learned more about Theory of Magic than he ever had before. He wondered if he could do it without an incantation next time. It made sense, didn't it? Everyone Apparated without speaking an incantation, wasn't this similar? The difference was that Apparition was a singular event, you did it and then it was over. This was a charm that required him to keep some attention on it, a little bit of his concentration, all the while. Then again, so did holding still.

Now if only he could scratch his nose. But try as he might, Harry could not construct an itch-banishing spell.

He ran through Quidditch strategies in his head, tried to remember the name of every Slytherin seventh year (and failed), and composed a letter to Hermione in his head. He didn't know how much longer he stood there, but when he heard the whoosh of the Floo, he muttered a quick finite incantatum and his arms were suddenly as heavy as lead. The trembling and pain returned instantly, and he yawned to make his eyes water a little, to make his suffering look worse.

Black strode over from the hearth, brushing soot from his robes. He stared at Harry for long moments, while Harry stared back. "You must be in considerable pain, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, which was the truth.

"You will not be impertinent in my class any longer."

"No, sir."

"You will act with all propriety as a product of Hogwarts and a shining example to all Wizarding Britain."

"Yes, sir."

Black plucked the two glass balls from Harry's hands and thrust them into his pocket. His eyes were drawn suspiciously, but he said grudgingly, "You may lower your arms."

"Thank you, sir," Harry added, for propriety's sake, and then lowered his arms. He had to bite down on his lip to keep from screaming. He hadn't been expecting that to hurt, but apparently Black had, as his eyes twinkled with malice.

"Come along, Mr. Potter. It is nearly midnight and it would not do for you to be caught in the corridors, for I am not the only one with the authority to use this room." 

Back in the headmaster's office, Harry found he could barely lift his bag of books. He managed to get it slung over his shoulder, but the muscles in his arms screamed in protest. He was sure he could hear actual creaking from his bones and tendons. Once outside the office, he went as quickly as he could to the dungeons.

As he descended the stairs, the urge to pull out his Invisibility Cloak and examine the corridor by the Potions classroom was very strong. But it would be dark and the headmaster was right, it wouldn't do to be caught sneaking about. That and Harry was anxious to see if Draco had returned. 

As he neared the stretch of corridor that was the Slytherin entrance, he saw a figure huddled in robes against the wall. At first he thought it must be Draco, but as he drew closer he saw he was wrong. It was Anisette Fogg.

"Are you all right?"

The girl startled; she had been asleep. "Oh, Harry!" She rubbed her eyes. "I don't know what's wrong! I can't get the door to open."

"What? That can't be right." Harry tried the password himself, then took a step forward. The stone wall remained a stone wall, and it hurt a little where he bumped his shoulder against it. He tried to raise his arm to take his wand out of his robe pocket, then groaned. He took a deep breath, then tried again, gritting his teeth against the pain. "Lumos."

They were definitely in the correct section of the corridor, and Harry had a sudden worry that maybe the whole Slytherin dormitory had disappeared into another time the way that he had. But that seemed ridiculous.

"What should we do?" Anisette squeaked. "We can't stay out here all night."

Harry thought it over. The correct person to see would be LeStrange, of course. His office and quarters were nearest, and he was their Head of House... But would they get Draco into trouble if he were discovered there? 

Harry was standing there, trying to decide whether to try LeStrange or not, when he heard footsteps echoing off the stone. Well, if it was a teacher making night rounds, they could hardly be blamed for being locked out of their dormitory. Harry, after all, had a firm alibi, assuming the headmaster wouldn't lie about such a thing.

But it wasn't a teacher. It was Draco, plodding along with heavy footfalls and sometimes reaching out to steady himself against the stone walls. 

"Draco!" Harry rushed to him as he looked on the verge of collapse.

"Oh, hello Harry," Draco said, a vapid smile on his face. "Oh, and Anisette." His smile got forcibly wider.

Anisette hovered nearby, and Harry could not tell what she thought.

"Er, he's drunk," Harry said. He wanted to sling one of Draco's arms over his shoulders, but he wasn't sure his own arms would let him do that without one of them breaking off. He managed to get his shoulder into Draco's armpit and Draco draped his arm across Harry's shoulders of his own accord. Harry crossed his arm over his chest to hold Draco's hand in place, and they hobbled toward the doorway. 

But when they got there, the password still wasn't working. Harry tried it again, and Anisette, too. They looked at each other and shrugged.

"What's wrong?" Draco said, trying to stand on his feet. "Did the password change?"

"We don't know," Harry said.

"Let me try it." Draco leaned a hand against the wall and spoke the incantation. He fell forward suddenly as the doorway appeared. "Well, it worked that time." He stumbled through.

Harry and Anisette exchanged glances, again, but the mystery would have to wait until morning. He held out a hand to let her go first through the charmed doorway, and then after a last look down the corridor just to see what could be seen, he stepped through himself.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry stepped into the Common Room and was not completely surprised to see that Draco had fallen into the nearest chair and appeared to be asleep. Anisette disappeared down the corridor that led to her year's rooms with a wave goodbye.

"Draco, come on, at least let's get to the room." Harry shook Draco on the shoulder. "Are you really asleep?"

"What?" Draco rubbed his eyes. "Have I been here long?"

"Come on. I can't... carry you right now." 

Draco got to his feet despite his groggy state, and followed Harry. At their door, Harry paused.

Draco nudged him. "Harry?"

"Um, I can barely lift my arm..."

"I'll do it." Draco placed his hand on the latch and spoke their personal password. the door swung open, and he stumbled in.

Harry closed the door behind them using his shoulder. Draco had paused just on the other side of the threshold, and it took Harry a moment to realize why.

Oh. Right. Harry stepped around him, then put his hands on Draco's hips--he could raise them at least that much without screaming--and pushed him back against the door. Harry's lips touched Draco's, and then all the anger and resentment and fear he had been tamping down while in the Room of Correction seemed to break loose. He heard Draco's head bump the wood, but couldn't help it, he drove his tongue deep into Draco's mouth...

And then suddenly released him, pulling away in sudden shock. Draco slumped to the floor, his back against the door, and blinked at Harry.

"What's wrong?" he said in a quiet croak.

"Nothing, it's nothing..." Harry said even as his brain was shouting black licorice! It had to be a coincidence. Probably LeStrange had a bowl on his desk, too. Maybe it was a Slytherin thing. But at that moment Harry was too creeped out to explain. "Draco... I think I'm going to need some help."

"So drained..." He blinked heavily. "Try ennervate on me, Harry."

Harry had only ever seen the spell used on someone unconscious, but he supposed it could work to "wake up" a conscious person as well. He waved his wand gently. "Ennervate."

Draco sighed and sat up straighter. "Well, that's a bit better." he shook his head as if to clear it. "Now, what is going on?"

Harry told Draco the details about his detention with Black. "And so now I can barely raise my arms at all. Man, it kills."

"Imagine how bad it would have been if you hadn't used levitation. Bloody brilliant that was." But Draco frowned as he looked at how Harry was holding his arms. "If it's that bad, his intent was probably to ruin you for the match on Saturday anyway." He blew a strand of hair out of his eyes. "You'll never stay on your broom."

Harry slumped, his book bag still on his shoulder as he didn't have the strength to lift it off. "Just the thought of flying makes it hurt more."

Draco's eyes lit up. "Where's that salve Whittington gave you?"

"Everything is still on the bed."

"Accio salve," Malfoy said, and the crystal cut bottle flew to his hand, fluttering the bed curtains as it went. "If this stuff is as good as it is expensive, it should help." He lifted Harry's bag from his shoulder, then undid Harry's robes, pulling them off one sleeve at a time. Then Harry's dress shirt, one button at a time, then the cuffs, and sleeves again. If he hadn't been in so much pain, Harry would have appreciated it much more. The disrobing charms they often used would have yanked his arms too painfully, but still, Harry wished Malfoy were stripping him for a more intimate purpose.

Various parts of his body agreed, his nipples hardening and his groin tightening.

Draco cupped his palm and poured a healthy measure of the bluish green salve into it, then dabbed it with the fingers of his other hand over the top of Harry's shoulder and along the delta of muscle on his upper arm. A sweet scent almost like jasmine wafted up. Then Draco began to rub.

Harry moaned. The stuff felt warm, like Draco's hands were polishing him until he glowed, working him like softened steel in a fire. Draco was thorough, firm and attentive, and Harry realized, with a slight blush, that since their Moroccan night of passion Harry had always been the one in charge, the one in control.

Now he surrendered to Draco's touch, the pain of each individual muscle gradually turning to languid pleasure, Now he couldn't move his arms because they felt boneless, not like they were brittle and laced with broken glass. Draco moved on to the sore muscles in Harry's chest, and Harry lay back on the rug, his moans deepening. The pain lanced deep under his armpits and Draco seemed to know just where to put his hands to make the salve work. 

Then he slicked them once more, and ran his thumbs over Harry's nipples. Harry's hips bucked at that, and he heard a soft chuckle escape Draco's throat. 

Apparently, Draco had a similar thought to Harry's. "It's been a while since you've been ... at my mercy," Draco said, leaning over to press his forehead against Harry's. "How do you feel now?"

"Better," Harry agreed. The salve had now washed the pain completely away, and his cock was at near full hardness inside his trousers. "Wanting you," he admitted.

Draco's eyes blazed as sat back and looked at Harry through stray strands of blond. "You know, I've never been inside you," he said, his voice barely audible yet clear.

Harry couldn't look into those eyes, face that intensity, while he said "I know." He shivered a bit, under that predatory look, thrilled to the core by the combination of helplessness and lust he felt.

Draco arched an eyebrow. "If it's too much to ask..."

"Draco..." Harry didn't know how to put his feelings into words. "I'm just worried about how tired you are. That's all."

"And how about you? Maintaining a wandless levitation charm you just invented for three hours?'" The hunger in Draco's eyes only increased. "Let me do the work."

Harry swallowed. "Okay."

"And tempted as I am to give you a taste of your own medicine, let's get off the floor."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, though his voice sounded nothing like it had when he'd said the same to Black. 

Draco stripped Harry of his shoes and trousers and then pointed to his bed. Harry climbed atop the coverlet and was surprised how quickly a naked Draco followed. He barely had time to put his glasses on the nightstand. Draco had vanished his clothes--even faster than a disrobing charm--and pushed Harry flat with his body.

They kissed, Draco's hair curtaining down around them, Harry still unable to reach up to hug or clasp Draco. His arms felt like wet noodles. Draco admonished him to lie still. Harry was sure he could still faintly taste black licorice, but it hardly mattered to him now.

Draco suckled one of Harry's nipples as his hand sought out Harry's cock, brushing the backs of his fingers over it with teasing touches, until Harry's hips began to come up off the bed as his body craved more stimulation. Draco wrapped warm fingers around Harry's length then, and Harry realized Draco had the salve in his hand.

To say it felt good would have been an understatement. In fact it took only a few strokes before he was begging Draco to stop--he didn't want to come too soon.

"Are you sure?" Draco asked, stilling his hand.

Harry shook his head. "I want you inside when I come."

Draco looked at him curiously. "Why? It might be easier for you..."

Harry interrupted. "When I'm inside you, and you come, it's like nothing else. I... I want to do that for you."

Something like wonder flitted through Draco's eyes. Then he nodded. He let go Harry's cock and slid his finger between Harry's buttocks--he was rewarded with a prolonged shudder. "It's your first time, isn't it," Draco whispered. 

Harry could only nod.

Draco slid his salve-covered fingers back and forth a few more times before crooking his index finger and circling the pucker of Harry's arsehole with it. Another prolonged shudder. Draco wondered if that was what he looked like when Harry did so to him, so overcome by anticipation and pleasure that his eyes closed, his mouth opened, soundless.

The first finger slid in easily and Draco felt the muscles tightening and loosening against him like a small mouth sucking. He would have to remind Harry to definitely thank Whittington for the salve now. Maybe he'd thank her himself. Judging from Harry's reaction, the stuff was liquid pleasure.

It was. Harry could hardly believe that he had lived his life without this lovely sensation, Draco's fingers fucking him casually, two or three of them, he couldn't exactly tell. He opened his eyes when Draco suddenly gasped, his hand still buried in him.

Draco was slicking his own cock with the salve and drawing in a long, trembling breath. "Merlin and Morgana, we must find out where Whittington gets this stuff." He slid his fingers out, then pressed the head of his cock against Harry. He shuddered again. "Much as I hate to admit this, I don't think I can wait."

In answer, Harry thrust against him, and the head of Draco's cock slipped in. They both threw their heads back, Harry pressing his into the pillow, Draco rearing back and holding onto Harry's hips for dear life. Between the salve and Harry's eagerness, he slid the rest of the way in without resistance and then fell forward, catching himself with his hands on Harry's shoulders. The tips of Draco's hair brushed Harry's forehead. It had been so long since his scar had hurt, he had almost forgotten what it felt like. 

Especially since his attention was focused on a wholly other sensation. The feeling of Draco sliding in and out of him, their breaths both synchronized to that movement, the eye-popping feeling that they were one being, one magical creature of flesh and bone and pleasure.

Every time Draco settled all the way in, Harry felt sparks fly from his stomach to his fingertips, to his toes, to the tip of his cock.

Draco seemed to know it. He kept himself propped on one arm while the other hand reached for Harry's cock. Harry tried to say "yes" but all that came out was a hiss as the pleasure intensified and pushed him closer to the peak.

"Come on, Harry," Draco whispered, as he picked up the pace. "You know you want to. For me."

Harry needed no more prompting. The orgasm uncurled from Harry's middle, snapping through him like a wave and sending aftershocks back and forth through his body. That was too much for Draco, who came close on his heels, pressing his chest to Harry's and burying his face in Harry's neck as they both shared a final spasm.

Harry's entire body felt as though it were dipped in the salve, as if all of him were liquefied inside. He lay flattened into Draco's coverlet, pleased by the gentle sensation of Draco's panting against his neck. Draco's spent cock slipped out, and Draco rolled onto his side, leaving one leg over one of Harry's.

They lay like that for long moments. Then Draco stirred. "The salve will work best if you take a hot bath now."

Harry didn't think he could move. "You'll have to levitate me into the water. If I tried to walk now, I think I'd fall on my face."

"I'm that good, eh?"

"You know it." Harry pulled him over for a kiss, not quite willing to dissipate the feeling that something special had just occurred by getting out of bed, either. But his brain was returning to normal and he remembered his worries of earlier that night. Later, he tried to tell his conscience, but it nagged him anyway. "Are you sleepy?"

"No. Your Ennervate was quite effective."

"I was just wondering if you remembered anything about your meeting with LeStrange tonight."

Draco sighed. "I remember us talking about it beforehand. After that, fragments. The same fragments as before. The first thing I remember is you waking me up in the Common Room. Here, have a look at me. Do I look like anything bad happened?" He stepped out of the bed and rotated slowly so Harry could see. 

"Actually, yeah." Harry beckoned him to come closer. "Right here behind your hip."

"On my arse, you mean."

"You've got some little bruises, like someone's fingers dug into you."

Draco twisted his spine to try to see. "I'd think you did it, except you can barely move your arm even now."

Harry nodded, his eyes serious. Draco saw the sober expression and put a hand on Harry's. "Next time. We'll figure it all out next time. Now I really meant it about that bath, and if we don't get to sleep soon, we're both going to end up with detention for sleeping through our classes."

"All right. Just a short bath, though."

"I'll make it extra hot, then." Draco summoned his wand with a satisfied smile, waved it in the direction of the bathroom, then turned and was surprised to find Harry clasping him around the waist from behind. Harry buried his face in Draco's hair and nuzzled the back of his neck.

"Thank you," Harry said. "Thank you."


	12. Chapter 12

In the morning, Harry's arms were stiff but not immobile. He rubbed his chest and shoulders as he lay in bed and wondered where Draco was. He pushed aside the bed curtains to see the other wizard was already sitting at the table. If Harry squinted, it looked like he was sipping a cup of tea and reading The Daily Prophet.

"Your tithe is here, oh great Seeker," Draco said. 

Harry felt the nightstand for his glasses--they were not there. Then he remembered. They were on Draco's nightstand. They had switched to Harry's bed to sleep after the bath rather than fuss with Cleaning Charms on the sheets. "Accio glasses." 

Harry slipped his spectacles over his ears and padded to the table. About a half dozen more packages awaited, along with a breakfast of tiny sausages and eggs with toast. "How late are we?"

Draco cast a time spell and shrugged. "We have fifteen minutes. Too bad we can't Apparate directly to class and save the ten minutes of walking."

"Will you start looking through the cards while I eat?"

"Certainly, sahib." Draco picked through the packages one at a time. "Anonymous, anonymous. Some nice bonbons from Anisette--I just hope they aren't anise-flavored..." Draco looked up. "Please remember to breathe while eating. Oh and tomorrow we must be sure to be at breakfast in the Great Hall before the match. Wouldn't do to seem like you're hiding."

Harry nodded, his mouth too full to reply. Then he jumped up from the table, picked up his wand, and decided to try that full dressing charm he'd been practicing. Unfortunately, he was too hurried to concentrate well, and powerful wizard or no, his boxers ended up on backwards.

Also unfortunately, he did not notice this until they were halfway to class. Fortunately they were loose enough not to make a huge difference and Harry did not have to fidget at his desk. In fact, by the time class was over, his mind was already on a more urgent mission. 

Draco was leading him toward the Great Hall--it wouldn't do to miss two meals in a row, he said--but Harry begged off. "I'll be there in a minute, save me a seat." He headed toward the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Draco had a quizzical look on his face.

"Er..." Harry wasn't sure what prompted him to lie just then. "When I got dressed this morning, I got my boxers on backwards. I'm going to fix them."

Draco tried to suppress a guffaw and failed. "All right then." He turned toward the great Hall with mirth in his step.

Harry trotted down the stairs and headed toward the Potions classroom. His heart began to beat harder as he neared the spot. What was he likely to find? He practically ran the last few steps before turning the corner.

The wall between the corner and the doorway had various nooks, created by the bones of support for the storeys above. But there, the third one from the end of the hall, was deeper than the others, an actual alcove.

He took a step into the alcove, and there was the painting of the dark landscape. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. It was real, it was there, and so maybe he was onto something. He cast Lumos to get a better look. Maybe there was no occupant to this painting? Or maybe whoever it was got stuck in a different painting when this one went back in time? Harry ran his fingers along the frame. 

Or what if the occupant was invisible? "Hello?" Harry said. "Is anyone there?" There was no reply. Harry felt the stone around the painting, the walls. Just stone. If this alcove held the key to returning to his time, it was not obvious.

"May I help you, Mr. Potter?"

Harry startled at the voice and looked up to see Professor Gullwing, her hair bound back and her brewing robes on.

"Sorry to disturb you, Professor," Harry said. "I didn't think anyone would be down here."

"Yes, well, I had some preparations to make for the fifth years." She was still looking at him curiously, clearly waiting for an explanation for his presence.

"Professor, do you know if... was this alcove always here?" Harry gestured vaguely. "The day I... arrived here, it was..."

She held up her hand for silence. "I know exactly which day you are talking about, Mr. Potter." She examined the small space. "I can't say as I've really noticed it before. Without your wandlight it would be very easy to miss."

He waved his wand over the painting, examining it again. "This is, um, basically, the spot where..."

"Would you prefer to discuss this in my office?"

Harry looked up at her. "Um, sure, yes, thank you."

Instead of going through the classroom as Harry expected, she led him around the corner, and to the next door, which led directly into her office. The room looked remarkably similar, Harry thought, to the way it had when it was Snape's office. Books, jars, bottles, slimy things, though Professor Gullwing's desk was perhaps a tad neater. She seated herself behind it and indicated the other chair for Harry. 

As he sat, she said, "Have you any theories?"

"Well, I was reading Hogwarts: A History when it occurred to me that perhaps the alcove is a form of disappearing corridor. The book is vague about where the corridors that disappear and reappear go when they are not present and I thought... what if they literally 'go' from one time to another?"

Galatea Gullwing steepled her fingers and thought. "It's certainly possible. The castle is rife with old magics that we have lost the keys to, as it were."

Harry thought about the Chamber of Secrets and said "That's true."

"It is reported as fact that there are disappearing corridors, yet how can it be that we know so little about them? Is there a periodicity to their movements? Some specific event that triggers them to appear or disappear?"

"Periodicity?"

"Regularity of interval," she said, without admonishing him. "In other words, if this alcove went back and forth between now and 1997 every six weeks, say, then we'd be able to predict the time of the next move, and you could be ensconced there, waiting. But it seems unlikely to be that often or we would have noticed, I would think."

"You did say that it is so dark it's hard to notice."

"True." She tapped her index fingers together. "We also don't know if the movements are random. Or would it continue to go back in time?" She fell silent, thinking about it.

Harry spoke up then. "What about the painting? I was trying to figure out if it was a portrait missing its subject. Could whoever it was have gotten stuck in another painting when the corridor disappeared? Or are they here somewhere in another painting? And if so, might they know?"

"Fascinating idea, Mr. Potter. Ten points to Slytherin, much as that pains me." She focused on him, then. "How have you been doing since your arrival? Are you getting on well with your new cohort?"

"Oh, um, yes, thanks." He was about to say "they're quite nice" but realized that wasn't strictly true. "I do get on well with them. Malfoy has really been a big help."

"You sound surprised by that."

"Oh, no, it's just... well, he is much nicer to me than I expected. I can't say any more, though, you understand."

"The geas, yes. I'm going to guess you know one of his relatives then."

Harry nodded. 

"It's a peculiar situation you are in, Mr. Potter, and you are to be commended for handling it so well." She pushed her glasses up her nose and stood. "But if you are determined to unlock the mystery of this alcove, I would suggest two things. First, let us charm an object, place it in the alcove, and key it to you, so that if it moves or disappears you will be alerted. Second, I would suggest you ask some of the other portraits about this one and see if it comes to anything. Portraits are not always a reliable source of information, but that line of inquiry is certainly worth pursuing."

"Yes, Professor." Harry stood, too.

"I must get back to my potion, but, hmm. Do you have a quill?" She opened a drawer in her desk, drew out a quill with a splintered tip. Harry dug one of his own out of his bag. Gullwing placed the two of them together on her desk, drew her wand and muttered a long incantation, or perhaps it was several short ones strung together, She then handed Harry's quill back to him. "Follow me."

She tucked the other behind the frame of the painting, said two more words as she tapped it with her wand, and then turned to him. "There. Now if anything changes with this one, that one," she pointed at Harry's bag with her wand, "will let you know."

"Thank you, Professor." Harry gripped his bag tight, his sore arms beginning to ache again a bit as the effects of last night's potion were wearing off. "Thank you very much."

She waved him away. "Now go and eat your lunch. I have a potion to finish."

Harry rushed up to the Great Hall, and slid into the space on the bench next to Malfoy just in time to grab the last chicken leg off the platter in front of Crabbe.

"Where you been, Harry?" Crabbe asked. "You're lucky you got here when you did. I was about to take a bite out of that."

Harry couldn't answer because his mouth was full, but he gestured guiltily, twinges of pain coming back into his arms in earnest now.

"Oh no, no, you eat it. You need to keep up your strength for tomorrow." Crabbe slapped Harry on the back. "In fact, you want more? I'll go raid some from the fourth years. They've still got plenty down there, the runts."

"No, I'm fine," Harry said. "Thanks, though."

Draco had not said a word. He broke a roll into pieces, buttered them individually and ate them one at a time with great deliberation. When the bell rang, he hurried off, Harry hastening to follow.

Harry would not run after him, but he arrived at the Transfiguration classroom only a few seconds later. They habitually shared a desk and no one else had sat in Harry's seat, so Harry took it as usual. Draco would not meet his eyes.

The day's classroom task was turning tankards filled with water into goblets filled with wine. As they set to work, Harry had finally tired of the cold shoulder. "Are you upset I was late to lunch or is it something else?" he asked, his voice pitched low.

"What are you talking about?" Draco sniffed. 

"Draco, come on..."

"Shut it, Potter. Concentrate on this, now. What kind of wine do you like?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "I've never really had much wine."

"Then let me try it first." Draco held up his wand, spoke the incantation. Harry blinked at the slight flash of light and then had to admit he was impressed. The tankard had become a glass with a spiral stem, whorled etchings circling the rim, filled with something ruby red and glistening. "Taste it," Draco said, his voice firm.

Harry picked the glass up gingerly, then raised it to his lips, quite aware that Draco was glaring at him as he did so. 

He winced and spat. "Bloody hell, Malfoy! That tastes like rat piss!"

"Pity." The blond wizard folded his arms. "Must have got something in the incantation wrong. or maybe my wand should have moved more like this." He swished it and Harry had to shy back to keep from getting the tip in his eye.

"What the hell is wrong with you!"

Draco's eyes blazed and he warned in a low voice, "Not here, Potter."

"But you...!" Harry mastered himself quickly. Even if Draco was being an arse, the last thing they needed was the appearance that they were having a lover's spat. 

Is that what this is? Harry wondered. "Fine. Try it again."

Draco raised his wand to turn the glass back into a tankard. He took a deep breath, then flicked his hand.

The glass shattered with a crash, exploding into a thousand pieces. Harry managed to get his hand up in time to keep the shards from embedding in his face while others bounced off his glasses. 

Draco was not so lucky. He slipped from his chair. He had his hands over his eyes, and he was making a strangled sound as if he were trying not to cry out. His wand rolled forgotten on the floor.

***

They wouldn't let Harry go with him to the hospital wing. Of course not, Harry realized. They never let his friends go along whenever he had been injured, though like them he could probably visit later. That is, if Draco ended up staying there for any length of time. For all Harry knew, a couple of quick charms might fix him right up.

But he wasn't there at dinner, and Harry was sick with worry by that time that when Whittington asked him to describe what happened he sat down next to her. By necessity, he had to repeat the story for all the Slytherins within earshot.

"We were working on that double-transfiguration, you know? Tankard into glass and water into wine. Well, he was going to turn the glass goblet back into a tankard, he just waved his wand and blam. The glass exploded. If it weren't for these"--he tapped his spectacles--"I'd probably be in the infirmary, too."

There were appreciative oohs. Anisette Fogg put her hand over her mouth, and then the table fell to general murmuring about it.

Harry turned to Whittington. "He's going to be all right, isn't he? He had his hands over his eyes so I couldn't see, but he was acting like it was pretty bad..."

"Harry." She put her hand on his arm to stop his babble. "You know more than I do, then. I was on the other side of the room, remember?"

"Oh." Harry found he was biting his lip. "I think... it might be kind of my fault. I had said something that pissed him off right before he did it." Well, that wasn't strictly true, but it was close enough.

"It's not your fault if his spell went wrong," she said.

"But he'll be okay, won't he, Heather?"

She glared at a sixth year across the table who looked like he might be trying to eavesdrop. The boy turned to Frost and acted like he had something to say to him. "Harry, I don't know. The eyes are one of the parts of the body that are the hardest to heal with magic. You know that. Otherwise, why would you still be wearing glasses?"

Harry stared at her. It had never occurred to him to fix his eyesight with magic. "Uh..."

"The eyes are the window on the soul," she said, and it sounded like she was quoting. "For whatever reason, they are very resistant to magical change."

"You're totally freaking me out, now, you realize," he told her.

"Sorry, didn't mean to. But it's not your fault. Let's go ask LeStrange if we can visit him after dinner. Come on." She grasped him by the hand and pulled him bodily from the bench. Harry was aware of many eyes on him as Heather pulled him by the hand down the length of the table. 

As it turned out, Professor LeStrange not only granted them permission, he escorted them there. A mediwizard Harry had not yet met merely nodded to the professor as he strode into the infirmary, and shortly the three of them stood at Draco's bedside. Draco appeared to be asleep, thought it was difficult to tell since a large bandage covered both eyes. More bandages wrapped around his head to keep the bulge of fabric in place and pushed Draco's hair this way and that. Harry swallowed when he saw the voluminous bandaging. 

"Will he be all right, you think. Professor?" Harry asked, ignoring the fact that Whittington rolled her eyes a little at that. 

"I'll go find out what his prognosis is. You two stay here in case he wakes up."

Harry nodded. He looked at Draco's prone form and had the nagging feeling that Draco was actually awake. Harry wondered if he would have feigned sleep had it been only Harry here, or only Heather...

The silence stretched on. "Oh, um, by the way," Harry said. "Thanks a lot for that muscle rub stuff. It, um, I ended up really needing it last night." 

"Your detention with Black?" she answered in a half-whisper.

Harry nodded. "He was trying to ruin me for the match tomorrow. Made me hold my arms out for five bloody hours."

Her eyes widened. "And you did it?"

Harry nodded.

"How are your arms now?"

"Pretty sore, still, but at least I can move them. Last night I couldn't even open the door to our room." Or to the common room, he thought, though that was a different problem entirely.

"Did you use it up? The salve, I mean."

"About half of it."

"You better put some on tonight, too."

"Yeah, you're right."

Heather cleared her throat. "You know, I could help you with that."

Harry blinked. This was exactly what Draco had warned him about, and here he had walked right into it. "Um, that's all right. I think I can handle it." Change the subject, change the subject... he thought furiously. "So, the weirdest thing happened last night. When I came back from detention, the common room door wouldn't open."

"What do you mean?"

"I should probably tell LeStrange about it, too. The door wouldn't respond to the password for me or for Anisette."

"So, how did you get in?"

"Um, someone else came along and it worked fine for them. Weird, huh?" He looked up as the professor returned. 

LeStrange waved his hand toward Draco's face. "Well, he's got a poultice on there to prevent scarring..."

"Scarring?" Harry said, alarmed.

"Of the cornea. He'll have to stay here overnight, but if it works, he should be just fine by morning."

"If it works?" Harry's voice rose.

"Cut it out, Potter," Whittington said then. "You need to get a good night's sleep tonight."

"Er, Professor, do you think he'll be recovered enough to, um, see the match?"

LeStrange gave Harry a kind and warm smile. "We'll have to see about that tomorrow. Don't worry, Harry. Professor Gullwing made the poultice herself and she's quite the expert. She also made him some other potions he's already taken, so everything possible is being done."

Harry let out a breath. That did make him feel a bit better as it certainly seemed that Gullwing knew her business. "Oh, professor," he said, as they started to walk out of the hospital wing, "I've been meaning to tell you. First, thanks so much for the gloves. I'll definitely wear them tomorrow."

"My pleasure, Mr. Potter. I am looking forward to the match myself." He caught Whittington's eye then and said "Would you two like to come down to my office for a cup of tea?"

"I would love to, professor," she said, "But a few of us are getting together to make ribbons for tomorrow and it wouldn't be fair for me to shirk my share."

"I understand completely. In fact, be sure to give me one of them to wear tomorrow, would you?"

"Certainly, Professor." She gave a little curtsey and then hurried on ahead of them. 

"And how about you, Harry?" LeStrange paused. "I promise not to keep you too late."

Harry's urge was to beg off as well, but what if he could learn something useful from LeStrange? "Okay, just one cup, though," Harry said. 

They walked in silence to LeStrange's office door. Once inside, the professor ushered Harry to one of a pair of leather-upholstered chairs by the hearth, sat down, lit the fire with one swish of his wand, then conjured a full pot of tea with two cups on the backswing. Harry suppressed a smirk, remembering that Draco had called LeStrange a "show off" for his transfiguration of Harry's tie. Harry fingered the knot at his throat.

"So, Harry, I haven't had a chance to catch up with you. How have you been getting on?" LeStrange poured the tea, and handed one cup by its saucer to Harry.

Harry took it with a nod. "Pretty well, professor. No news from the Ministry, so I am just ... carrying on."

"You seem to be fitting in well." LeStrange sat all the way back in his chair and rested his saucer on his belly. He wasn't very old, Harry realized, maybe forty, but getting a bit thick around the middle. His hair was a shaggy, sandy light brown that might have been partly grey.

"Er, yeah." Harry took a sip of his tea. "Oh, so the other thing I've been meaning to tell you. Last night, I had detention with the headmaster."

"He wasn't too hard on you, I trust?"

"Um, well..." Harry didn't know how to answer that so he soldiered on. "When I came back to the dungeons afterward, though, I couldn't get the password to work on the door into the Slytherin dormitory."

"How curious," LeStrange said, blowing on his tea. "Could it have been a prank by one of the other houses?"

"I don't know what caused it, but I figured I should bring it up with you. Anisette Fogg couldn't get it to work either, and she was trying for quite a while."

"So, how did you get in?"

Harry kept his expression neutral. "Draco Malfoy was able to do it. But why it worked for him and not for us, I don't know." Well, there, now LeStrange knew that Harry knew what kind of condition Draco had been in last night, and when he had come home. Although, Harry realized, LeStrange knew they were roommates, so surely Harry would have already known. But now it was said.

LeStrange betrayed no emotion as he spoke. "Hm. I wouldn't put it past the Gryffindors to try to disrupt your life. If someone has tampered with the door, that's a serious offense and should be severely punished. Flogging, I should think."

Harry sputtered in his tea.

"Are they no longer doing that in your era? No, no, don't answer. I'll assume by your shock that it has fallen out of favor and in your time they have some other method of correction." He sipped in silence for a few moments. "How things change. Some more slowly in the Wizarding world than in the Muggle world, since so many of us live so much longer, and our institutions stand commensurately longer as well. Hogwarts, well, another thousand years may it stand." He raised his teacup toward Harry, who tipped his in answer. "There are many things I hope will have changed in the world by your time," he said, his voice wistful. "I know you can't tell me anything so don't even try, but I hope it is a better world which awaits us all."

Harry got a bit of a lump in his throat at that. He didn't know what LeStrange was alluding to, nor why the man seemed as emotional as he did, but he couldn't help but think about his situation. In the future, he and Draco wouldn't have to hide, wouldn't have to act as though what they were doing were terribly wrong. But in the future there was also Voldemort, and a prophecy that Harry would have to fulfill or die trying. "There are good things and bad things about every era," Harry said then, because he felt he had to say something.

"Too true, Mr. Potter." LeStrange put his cup down then, and rubbed his hands briskly together. "Now, let's have a look at that doorway, shall we? I am very curious to see if the tampering is still in effect." Harry stood as the Arithmancy professor did. "And Harry," LeStrange added, as they went into the corridor, "Please don't hesitate to come to me if you need anything. Advice, help, anything at all."

"Thanks, professor." Harry hid a sigh as he walked half a step behind LeStrange toward the Slytherin dorm. He wanted to hate LeStrange, but he seemed like a pretty decent sort. Then again, he was a Slytherin. Harry was sure he was hiding something, he certainly couldn't be entirely innocent when it came to why Malfoy's memory had been altered. "Actually, sir, could you do me one favor?"

"Of course, my boy. Anything."

"Will you look in on Malfoy tomorrow morning if he's still in hospital? I might be a bit... occupied. Would you tell him..." Harry tried to think of something plausible. "That I'm worried about him?"

"You care a lot about him, don't you."

They were nearing the corner and the turn toward Slytherin. Harry wasn't sure why, but instinct told him to lead LeStrange on a little more. "Is it that obvious?" he said very, very quietly.

LeStrange did not break stride but Harry could see he was taken aback for a moment. He clearly hadn't meant his comment to precipitate a confession. "I'll tell him," LeStrange said.

"He..." Harry put a little tremor into his voice. "He means the world to me. I... I don't want anything bad to happen to him. Ever." Then he ran his hand over his face as if composing himself. In a firmer voice he said, "I'm sure you understand, professor."

"I do, quite," LeStrange said, and clapped Harry briefly on the shoulder. "You can trust me... to deliver your message." 

They turned the corner and Harry abandoned any further attempts to learn anything from LeStrange. 

There outside the door were two first years, one boy and one girl, looking rather petrified. "Professor!" they cried in unison, "The password's not working."

"Not to worry, not to worry," LeStrange said, drawing his wand out of his robes. "Stand back now," he said, moving the first years aside with a gentle hand and a smile. He held his wand like a conductor to his orchestra then, and closed his eyes in concentration. Then he began to mumble an incantation, too quietly for Harry to make out what the words were.

Both Harry and the first years gasped and jumped back as a fiery line appeared around the outline of the doorway, then flared out, leaving behind a slight scent of brimstone. 

LeStrange lowered his wand, the friendly smile he'd shown to the first years gone. "Try it now," he said, his voice low. The two first years stepped forward, giving the professor a wide berth.

But the door opened. It closed behind them and the wall went back to looking like a wall. 

"What was it, professor? Do you think the Gryffindors did it?"

"I do not think it was the Gryffindors, Harry. It would appear the door was spelled so that only pure-blooded wizards could pass through it."

Harry did a double take. He'd made the assumption that other than him, Slytherins were all purebloods. But of course, that was foolish. Two of the Slytherins he knew best, Severus Snape and Tom Riddle, were of course both half blooded. "Do you know who?"

"I do." LeStrange sighed. "I don't suppose it can really be kept quiet, can it?"

"You don't have to tell me, sir," Harry said, though of course he was burning with curiosity. 

"No, no, we'll need to make an example, I suppose. You know, of course, that Salazar Slytherin believed in pure-blooded superiority? Yes, I thought you would. It's a concept that rears its head from time to time, but one I had generally hoped to suppress in recent years." He took a deep breath. "The door, if you would, Harry."

Harry spoke the password, swung the door inward, and was greeted by the stares of everyone in the Common Room. The two first years were in the middle of a group--they had clearly been telling everyone about LeStrange's magical feat.

"Timothy Frost," Professor LeStrange said, his voice booming.

"Sir?" Frost said, standing up from his chair near the fireplace.

"Tampering with the security spells of your house is a punishable offense. Are you even aware of the magnitude of deed you have performed?"

Frost just pursed his lips sullenly.

"Twenty lashes, Mr. Frost. Come with me."

Frost's eyes widened. "You can't be serious. You know as well as I that filthy Mudbloods and their kin don't belong here."

"Thirty lashes, Mr. Frost, for using an objectionable word for an even more objectionable concept." He pointed his wand at Frost, as if stupefying him were not out of the question. 

"Thirty lashes! And you're taking Potter's word for it?"

"Mis-ter Frost," LeStrange said severely. "I'll have you know that your magical signature was all over that spell and with poor Myers and Bartleby here stranded in the corridor I could hardly overlook the fact that something was wrong."

Frost began reluctantly climbing to the door, his shoulders slumped and his back stiff with anger. 

When he stood within arms reach of the professor, LeStrange spoke again to the entire room. "Mr. Potter and I have been to see Mr. Malfoy. Hopefully he will be up and about by the time the match starts tomorrow. If he's not, I hope you will all dedicate your victory to him."

This pronouncement was met by cheers, and LeStrange led Frost away.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry woke up Saturday morning alone in bed. Not that he had expected Malfoy to be both released from the infirmary and also over whatever had caused him to fly into such a snit yesterday, but... Harry opened the curtains and looked over to Malfoy's bed just the same. Empty. And snit was probably an unfair word to use. Something had Draco upset enough that he had shattered a glass magically and ...

Harry's throat tightened as he thought about the possibility that Draco's eyesight might be permanently damaged. Windows on the soul. Harry reached for his glasses and slipped them onto his face. He looked again. Draco's bed was still empty.

There was no one there to help him look through that day's gifts. He remembered Draco's admonishing that they--well, Harry really--should not miss breakfast with the others today. But once he got up to the Great Hall he fervently wished he had stayed downstairs. Quidditch seemed trivial in comparison to the turmoil roiling in Harry's insides. But at table, there were hearty wishes to accept, a smile and a confident act to put on.

Not that Harry wasn't confident. The Slytherin team flew as well as any he'd ever seen, and attacked with the relentlessness of sharks. The Gryffindors, from what he could tell, had lost most of their top players from the year before to graduation, and they were a young, eager bunch. Their captain, a sixth year named Roberts, seemed more of a cheerleader than a tactician. In fact, right now he was leading one end of the Gryffindor table in a fight song. Every student at the Slytherin table wore a ribbon or sash of green, but the looks they were giving the Gryffindors indicated that this group of Slytherins considered it beneath them to chant at table.

Whittington slid into the bench next to him. "Can you believe that racket? I can't believe the headmaster hasn't put a stop to it." She glared at the Gryffindors. Harry merely nodded.

"Catch the Snitch, Potter," a boy who couldn't have been much more than third or fourth year said to Harry, looking positively terrified and yet proud to be speaking to the Seeker that way. "For Draco!"

"Er, you bet," Harry said, then turned back to his still full plate since he didn't know what else to say. He chewed a piece of bacon thoughtfully.

"Um, Harry?" Behind him now was Anisette Fogg. He turned and she gave him a peck on the cheek. "Catch the Snitch, Harry. For Draco."

Then she was gone, and Harry raised an eyebrow in Whittington's direction.

"Eat," she prompted him, then shouted "Practice in your own common room, you cretins!"

Harry touched her arm lightly to get her attention back. "A little touchy this morning, aren't you?" She didn't answer right away, so he went on. "It's okay, Whittington. We'll beat them."

"How can you sound so sure?"

Before Harry could answer, there was another underclass girl, wishing him luck, and telling him to win it for Draco. When she moved on, Harry answered. "They're overeager. They're going to go after us hard and heavy and burn themselves out fast. We'll be able to divide their ranks and pick them apart, as long as we keep cool ourselves. Courage and bluster will only get them so far. They're young enough that they want to make a good showing of it more than they want to win. They think a stroke of luck is their only chance to beat us. Why are you looking at me like that?"

Whittington laughed into her hand. "That's the most I've ever heard you say at once."

"Oh, uh... Well, it's all true." Harry shrugged.

"How do you know all that?"

Harry looked over at the happy-go-lucky Gryffindors and did not answer. Then he received another handshake. "For Draco," he echoed. You'd think it was a Gryffindor who put him in hospital, Harry thought. But he realized that didn't matter. Their leader was injured and they rallied around that, no?

But the steady stream of supporters who approached Harry personally began to seem like something else after a dozen or so. Not every one mentioned Draco. Only certain ones. Maybe he was reading things wrong, but he began to get the distinct feeling that this was not a general rallying cry, but one that was for him alone. 

They knew. Harry was certain of it. They knew and this was their way, those who said it, of saying they accepted it. He could see it now in their eyes and he began to feel a bit better. Perhaps Quidditch could be counted as pretty important after all.

If only he felt as sure that things were solid between him and Draco as the Slytherins did.

Harry got up from the table to head down to the pitch a little early, get in a few minutes flying to check out the Cleansweep's response to the morning wind off the lake. He had only gone a few steps toward the doors though when he was stopped by a glare of hate.

Timothy Frost walked stiffly, as though he were trying to keep his clothes from touching his back--which in fact he was. "Potter," he said, equally stiff. 

"Frost." Harry gave him a nod and then made as if to walk past him.

Frost grabbed his wrist. "Don't think I've forgotten what you said. If you don't catch the snitch..."

"I keep my promises, Frost." Harry was aware that many eyes from the table were on them. He clapped his hand on Frost's shoulder. "Remember that."

Out on the pitch, the October sun was thin but bright, the breeze chilly but not strong. Harry rubbed his gloved palms together and gripped the handle of his Cleansweep as he took a leisurely lap around the stands. His arms were still a bit stiff but they no longer hurt, thanks to Heather's gift, and he stretched them a bit as the broom carried him in a wide circle. As usual, the entire world seemed more peaceful when he had the wind whistling through his ears, and Harry passed the next half hour almost in a trance.

When he came to, the stands were filling up and Barnie was waving him down. Harry swept down by the Slytherin broom shed where the others were just finishing suiting up. Harry shook hands with his teammates, Barnie made a speech in which he said he didn't need to give a speech because they all knew what to do. And then they were emerging as a team, brooms in hand, to the cheers of the Slytherin contingent and the boos of the rest. And then they were off with the first whistle.

Harry detached himself from the action as usual, scanning for the snitch and trying to be aware of his teammates' actions without being distracted by them. He had one disorienting moment when he saw someone in maroon and gold snatch the quaffle from Phillips--inwardly he cheered for half a moment before he shook himself. We're in the green, he scolded himself fiercely. Six years of playing for Gryffindor had trained his eyes. He blinked. The color wasn't what mattered. What mattered was that Crabbe had just saved Phillips from a nasty bludger attack, sending the ball soaring away, and that Phillips had passed the quaffle to Whittington, who zipped neatly past the Gryffindor keeper and scored with a firm toss through the center hoop.

Harry did not make that mistake again. He began paying more attention to the Gryffindor seeker, but the boy was absorbed in watching the game. Things were proceeding much as Harry had expected they would. The Gryffindors had scored a few times early, but now for every one they scored, the Slytherins got one, or two.

But still no sign of the snitch. Harry let his eyes drift over the stands. There was Professor LeStrange, wearing a ribbon on his robes that was so large it looked rather like someone had pinned a head of broccoli to him. Harry couldn't help but notice Professor Gullwing on the opposite end of the bench from him.

It was turning out to be a rather high-scoring affair. The Gryffindor defense was no match for Slytherin tactics, and the Slytherins realized that if they kept outscoring them two to one, in another hour it wouldn't even matter if they caught the snitch.

Harry, however, was quite determined to catch the snitch anyway, for a multitude of reasons. To shut Frost up, for one thing, and "for Draco," of course. 

And for the sheer joy of it. There it was, weaving directly across the pitch in lazy arcs, right in the hot zone the chasers kept crossing. Harry angled downward, trying not to alert the other Seeker that he had seen it. He was perhaps twenty yards from it, and about to pick up speed when one of the Gryffindor beaters nearly collided with it. The snitch was charmed of course to keep any player from actually being able to collide with it in midair, but for a few moments the little flying ball was dragged along in the broom's wake before speeding off in the opposite direction.

Harry gave chase, and it was only a few seconds later he heard the sound of the other Seeker closing from his right side, robes flapping in the wind. Then they were shoulder to shoulder, the snitch still flying faster than either of them, climbing now in a spiral. There were gasps from the crowd as it became clear the two Seekers were neck and neck.

Then suddenly the snitch began to fall. No, not fall, fly straight down, shooting past the two wizards in pursuit. Harry braked and flipped in midair at the zenith of his ascent and began dropping like a stone. The other Seeker arced into his dive and fell behind by several yards.

I know this snitch, Harry thought, thinking of his "tryout." Using gravity and as much speed as the Cleansweep would give him, Harry knew he could overtake it. The only question was, would the ground come up first? The grass was indeed approaching quickly...

The snitch made another sudden change of direction, flying parallel to the ground and then once again climbing in a spiral. Harry stayed with it but he stretching out his arm he was still two feet short of being able to grasp it. And the higher the snitch went, it seemed the slower his broom climbed. Harry hooked his feet atop the twigs and shimmied forward on his broomstick, a move Barnie had taught him... just one more foot. He stretched. Six more inches!

And Harry kicked forward, grabbed the snitch, and then began to fall.

Really fall. He had dived right off his broomstick and with his heart in his throat he flailed his arms.

"Ipsum leviosa!" he shouted, Now he was still falling, but his descent slowed enough that his heart fell back into his chest. "Ipsum leviosa!" he said again, clenching both fists (one still holding the snitch) and concentrating on the feeling that he was holding onto his magic. The ground was still coming up at him too fast, but as he neared it, he slowed even more, until he practically floated the final four or five feet as if he were light as a feather.

The moment his feet touched down he heard a tremendous cheer. Perhaps they had been cheering all along, but he had been concentrating on the spell so hard he had not heard them. Now he held he snitch aloft, the wings buzzing, and was quickly engulfed by his teammates. An instant later, they had him up on their shoulders, and the rest of the Slytherins joined the parade all the way up to the castle, while Harry's broom, charmed to hover if it ever lost its rider, followed along.

In the Common Room, the party began the moment the team began spilling through the hidden door. Whittington spelled up two magic fiddles for music and the girls began to jig, while Barnie and Phillips produced a store of butterbeer from somewhere. Harry soon found himself in the chair by the hearth, though, being peppered with questions and compliments alike.

"Potter, you bloody maniac! Leaped right off your broom, did you?" Crabbe was there, sitting next to him. "I missed it at first, busy with a bludger, you know, but when I saw you flapping your arms I thought you were a goner!"

"Well, I..."

Anisette Fogg was near beside herself with glee. "Did you do that on purpose, Harry? Did you plan it that way?"

Harry wasn't sure how to answer. "Not exactly..."

"That was some levitation charm!"

"Better than the Chudley Cannons in '89..."

"Crazy, I tell you! But brilliant...!"

"Takes unbelievable guts..."

Harry quickly realized that the story told itself. All he had to do was nod and put in a word from time to time, and everyone there told what they had seen again and again. After a while the group around him and Crabbe thinned a bit and Harry said to Crabbe, "I'm starved. Haven't we got any food for this party?"

Crabbe chewed his lips. "Um, Malfoy usually arranges that sort of thing."

Harry nodded. Of course. He wondered if Draco was still in the infirmary and if he'd be allowed in to see him if he was. Well, he would ask LeStrange after things died down here. "Crabbe, you know where the Hufflepuff dormitory is?"

"I know which direction to go, anyway," Hector said.

"Listen, take a couple of underclassmen and see what you can get." Harry gave Crabbe directions to the painting of the fruit Fred and George had told him about years ago. "At least, I sure hope the painting is there," Harry said. "Who wants to go?"

"I'll go!" Anisette raised her hand. Crabbe took her, and Phillips, and a fourth year Harry didn't know.

If Harry thought he felt like a hero after catching the snitch, he felt doubly so when the raiding party returned well-laden with cream pies, treacle tarts, candied figs, and much more, armloads of the stuff. No one went up to lunch in the Great Hall and the party lasted all afternoon.

Harry slipped away as early as he could, but it was two in the afternoon by the time he stepped into the corridor, the sounds of the Slytherin revelry silenced as the door's camouflage charm kicked in. 

Harry took a deep breath. It would have been a great day, a perfect day, if Draco had been there. But if there was one thing Harry knew by this stage of his life, it was that happiness was rarely simple.

LeStrange answered the knock on his office door dressed in just his waist coat and trousers--his robes were flung over the back of the chair at his desk, Harry saw as they took their seats. Well, it was Saturday for professors, too.

"I was just wondering if you had heard any more about Malfoy," Harry said, after absorbing several minutes of praise from the head of house about his performance in the match. 

LeStrange blew a long breath out of his nostrils as he pursed his lips. "They say he's much better, but he wasn't ready for the poultice to come off his eyes just yet this morning. He was very agitated so I believe they knocked him out with a sleeping draught. He ought to be up and about by dinner, though, I would think."

Harry nodded, a miserable feeling in his gut. "Is there anything I can do...?"

"Mr. Potter, Harry, you mustn't blame yourself for what happened."

"He was upset. We were arguing..."

LeStrange held up a hand. "I've known Draco most of his life, you know, and he has always had a volatile streak."

"But..."

"And there may be circumstances you don't know about."

Harry's ears perked up at that. I'll bet there are... he thought, but kept silent, hoping that LeStrange would say more. 

"Did you know he had a letter from his parents the other day?" LeStrange toyed with the quill on his desk. "You wouldn't have seen it delivered by owl in the Great Hall, no. It came to me first and I passed it to him."

"A letter?" Harry said, trying to guess what direction LeStrange was taking them.

"Yes. One that I suppose might ... upset a young man in his circumstances." LeStrange coughed, and Harry knew that the circumstances being alluded to were probably to do with Harry himself. "His parents have arranged a match for him, you see."

Perhaps it was all the talk of Quidditch, or perhaps it was a touch of disbelief, but at first Harry could not parse what the professor had said. "A match...?" Then his cheeks colored as he realized what kind of match was meant. "Oh. But he was expecting that. Sort of."

LeStrange hummed in agreement. "In the back of his mind, no doubt. To be confronted with it now, though, so soon after..." The professor looked up suddenly, catching himself. The look in his eye said he clearly should not be speaking of these things to a student. To Harry.

"So soon after Regulus ... left," Harry finished for him. 

"I... yes," LeStrange said in a defeated tone. "Draco is an only child and the continuation of the Malfoy line depends on him."

"So, who's the lucky girl?" Harry's voice came out more miserable than he intended, drawing another look of conspiratorial sympathy from LeStrange.

"Mirabille Frost," LeStrange said. "Graduated last year."

"Is she related to...?"

"Your friend Timothy Frost? Yes. His older sister. Two magically powerful families, the Frosts and the Malfoys." The professor stood and Harry started to get to his feet as well. "No, no, I'm not dismissing you. Some tea?"

Harry looked up. "Um, yes, please."

LeStrange nodded at that, fished his wand out of his robes on the back of the chair, summoned tea and biscuits, and then sat back down. "As I was saying, two powerfully magical families."

"Pureblood families," Harry said. "If what Frost says is true."

"True enough," LeStrange replied, pouring for them both. "For what is 'pure' blood? How far back does one have to go in human history to find the branching of Wizardkind from Mugglekind? Far enough back that we do not know the answer."

Harry sipped his tea. He had never thought about it that way before. "I don't understand why it's such a big deal. Isn't magic magic? I mean, if someone is born with magic, whether they had magical parents or not, how can it possibly matter?"

LeStrange gave a nod to Harry over his teacup. "You have the crux of the matter there, Mr. Potter. Indeed, we have no evidence that Muggleborn witches or wizards are any less powerful than those with long magical lineages. But how much of that is magic itself insuring a strong root stock on which to grow?"

"Are there more Muggleborns now than there used to be?"

"An excellent question, my boy. Excellent question. I can tell you that here at Hogwarts, the number of acceptance letters sent to Muggle homes has crept up year by year. In the records from two hundred and three hundred years ago there were perhaps one or two students per year who came from the Muggle world. Now there are two or three per class in every house."

"Um," Harry wasn't sure how many Muggleborn students there were in his time at Hogwarts. And he couldn't tell LeStrange one way or the other. 

"The Ministry does a pretty thorough job finding children with magical ability. They comb the papers for suspicious accidents and the like, for one thing."

Harry was fairly certain that in his day they had a magical quill which detected the birth of any magical child in Britain and wrote his or her name into a ledger to receive a letter upon reaching the age of eleven. But the geas would never let him say that. Even without the quill, though, he could think of a reason why the number might be higher now that in, say, 1492. "But professor, two or three hundred years ago, might there have been more Muggleborns that the Ministry just didn't find? I mean, I know Muggle newspapers go back a long time, but not that many people could read then, could they? Perhaps it was just harder to identify them."

LeStrange set down his cup, as if thinking and holding his tea were too much to accomplish at once. "You know, I had not considered that idea before, but it seems perfectly obvious, doesn't it?" He frowned. "My theory about the intentions of magic itself may need some adjustment."

Harry sipped again--it was a strong earl grey to complement the orange-flavored biscuits. "The intentions, sir?"

"My theory is that if the so-called pure blood lines are dying out, then magic will find others to carry it forward."

"Dying out?"

LeStrange picked up a biscuit but he seemed more interested in toying with it than eating it. "Many of the pure blood families seem to be having fewer and fewer children. It isn't as if we haven't already seen this happen with the royal houses of old Europe, of course; wizards aren't so stupid as to fail to realize that inbreeding is eventually a losing game."

"Then why are the pure bloods like Frost so stuck on their pure-bloodedness?"

"It has far more to do with social power and prestige than it does with magical strength or ability," LeStrange said. "And though we are wizards, we are still subject to human nature. Pure blood is just another thing that one group can use to make themselves seem better than the other."

"Even when they lie about it." Harry said, thinking of Voldemort, and Snape.

"Hmm, now I think you have skipped ahead of me, Harry."

"Sorry. Thinking about the situation in..." He felt his throat begin to tighten. "Sorry, can't talk about it."

LeStrange nodded. "Anyway, Harry, I'm sure you've come to the conclusion yourself long since that the purest bloods are not always the strongest wizards. And as you've already told me you're only half-blooded yourself, may I point out that your feat today on the pitch was exceptional in the extreme."

"So you said."

"I don't mean this as fannish praise now or mere house enthusiasm." LeStrange finally bit into the biscuit and sat forward so the crumbs would not fall on his waistcoat. "That was both quick thinking and took an amount of raw power that would have left some wizards half-dead by the time they hit the ground, that is assuming that it worked well enough that the fall didn't kill them. Don't tell me they are teaching that sort of thing at Hogwarts in the future?"

"No, sir. I ... invented that myself."

"You must really be the top of your class."

"Actually, I'm not," Harry said.

LeStrange's eyebrows flew up in surprise. "How can that be?"

"Well, I... er... I have a lot of priorities competing for my attention," Harry said. "It's hard to concentrate on schoolwork when..."--an evil madman is trying to kill you and all your friends--"...there's a lot of trouble and turmoil to deal with."

LeStrange nodded as if he understood. "I see. So your little jaunt to our era has been good for you. Allowing you to reach your potential undisturbed by the exigencies of your normal life."

Harry sat up a bit straighter. Was that true? He certainly had done many things differently here... It probably was true. Maybe, in a weird way, this whole thing is part of the prophecy, Harry thought. Maybe the things I am learning here will be what makes me a match for Voldemort when the time comes. "I... I have learned a lot... about myself since coming here," he said.

LeStrange gave him that conspiratorial smile again. "I take it you'd never met someone like Draco before."

Harry almost sputtered his tea at that. "Not exactly," he managed. He put down the cup to prevent any further accident. "Professor, can I ask you something a bit... personal?" He took a deep breath, even while part of him was thinking he was a fool for bringing this up with LeStrange, when he still didn't know what happened to Draco whenever he set foot in this very room. But who else could he talk to about this?

"Of course, anything." LeStrange spread his hands. "We're quite safe here, you know," he added.

"Right." Harry rubbed his palms together. "I know you know about me and Draco."

LeStrange gave a blink of acknowledgement.

"I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about him." Harry's heart gave a leap and began to pound. "But I know he's in love with Regulus Black. And now he's betrothed to Frost's sister. And..." Harry had to swallow hard to go on. "And on top of it all, I know he's angry with me, professor. I don't know why, but right before he shattered that glass..." Harry thought back to the transfiguration lesson. Malfoy had refused to speak to him all through lunch, then practically put his eye out with his wand, not to mention the 'wine' he had transfigured for Harry to drink. All the while refusing to say what had upset him so. "We had a fight," he finished. "And I don't know what to do."

LeStrange poured some fresh tea into Harry's cup, shaking his head sadly. "You wonder what's to become of you and whether Mr. Malfoy will have any room left in his heart for you. But, Harry, surely you realize, if you are to return to your own time, your feelings for him can only be... temporary."

Harry folded his hands and dropped his head. Of course. He knew that. He knew it and yet until he heard the professor say it that way, it hadn't seemed real. It didn't matter how he felt about Draco, or how Draco felt about him. It was only a matter of time before they would have to part.

And only a matter of time before Harry had to return to fight Voldemort. Maybe even to fight Snape again, and the Draco Malfoy he knew. He forced the fluttering feeling in his stomach down. He was much better at nonverbal spells now, he accessed his magic more easily. The next time he faced Snape would be easier than it had been. The prospect of avenging Dumbledore suddenly seemed more real, more possible.

Harry realized he had been sitting there thinking for some time, while LeStrange merely watched him. "Um, thanks for the tea, professor. I think I had best go now."

"Of course, my boy. Of course." LeStrange stood and saw Harry to the door. "If you see Mr. Malfoy, if he's quite recovered, could you let him know I would appreciate his help with something tomorrow night? If he is up to it, of course. If not, perhaps Monday."

"Yes. Certainly, professor," Harry said, his veins suddenly running cold. Tomorrow or Monday. So soon...

Harry walked to the branching of the corridors and wondered what to do next. One direction lay the Common Room and the party probably still going on. The other, the stairs. He could go up to the library to write Hermione another letter. Or he could slip his cloak on and try to sneak up to see how Draco was doing in the infirmary--if he was still there. 

After the sobering conversation he had just had with Professor LeStrange, Harry could not imagine going back to the Slytherin party. And Draco was probably about to be released, anyway, So, the library then.

He climbed the stairs, shielding his eyes a bit as the afternoon sun shone bright into the entrance hall at the top. He was halfway across to the stairwell up to the library when he saw someone else coming down the stairs on the other side.

Someone with short blond hair, silver-grey eyes, and a bitter expression on his face.

Malfoy?

Harry reached for his wand, his mind racing. How did he get here? Could he have returned to Hogwarts secretly, Crabbe told him about the alcove, and he followed Harry back in time? Harry's mouth was dry but his wand hand was steady.

Malfoy stood at the bottom of the stairs, his cold with anger. "You're afraid of me," he said, his voice laced with contempt.

"I'm not afraid of you," Harry replied. Dumbledore wasn't afraid of you and neither am I. 

"So, that's the way it's going to be then, is it, Potter?" Malfoy crossed his arms and leaned against the stone balustrade. 

"Draw your wand," Harry said. 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at that. "You want to duel me?"

"It's only fair," Harry said, his teeth gritted. In truth, he wanted to see if sectumsempra would work again, and this time there would be no Snape to heal the wounds. But he wouldn't attack a wandless wizard, even one as underhanded and evil as Malfoy. "You don't belong here."

"Want to displace me, as well?" Malfoy resolutely did not reach for his wand. "I hear you threw quite a party downstairs. Is this your way of repaying me? I suppose you're the prince of the Slytherins now?"

"What?" Harry jerked his head to the side, as if he hadn't heard what Malfoy said. But he had heard, he just hadn't understood a word of it.

"Don't gape, Potter, it doesn't become you. And besides, have you forgotten? You've got my wand."

"I've what?" Harry's heart was beating so hard he could hardly hear his own voice. 

"They told me you picked it up after you shattered that glass in my face."

"Draco?" Harry took a step forward, then one back in confusion. He held up his other hand, the one not holding his wand, as if trying to tell the world to halt. "I... I thought you were someone else..." he managed weakly. "I mean..." He lowered his wand. 

Draco pushed off from the steps and swaggered toward Harry. "Accio wand," he purred, and his wand flew from where Harry had tucked it in his bag into his hand. He slid it into the inside pocket of his robe with a sigh. 

"But Draco," Harry said, aware that he was still sputtering. "Your hair, your eyes..."

"Feeling sorry about that glass now, are you?" He was close enough to touch Harry now and he gripped the collar of Harry's robe with one hand. "A little side effect of the poultice, which, by the way, burned and itched like holy hell. In my eyes. They had to cut my hair to get the bandages tight enough."

"Tight enough for what?" Harry said, his voice small.

"So that I wouldn't claw my own eyes out in my sleep," Draco hissed. "Happy now?"

"No, I'm bloody well not happy...!" Harry began trying to pull away. "I didn't do it! I've been worried sick about you!"

For a moment, Draco's eyes wavered. But then he pushed Harry back and swept past him. He was halfway down the stairs before Harry could turn around.

"Draco... Draco!" Harry shouted, but the tall Slytherin did not look back.


	14. Chapter 14

_Dear Hermione,_

_Well, I've really screwed things up_  
royally here. Do you remember that  
book, a Muggle book called Through  
The Looking Glass? In a mirror,  
everything's backwards and I feel like  
I've been turned upside down. I'm  
a Slytherin here, and Draco Malfoy is  
my best friend. Or was.  
To say it's confusing doesn't begin  
to describe it, but it would take  
me fifty pages to even begin. 

_I wish I could talk to you_  
because I know you'd cut right through  
all the confusion. And there are so many  
thing you could tell me with one trip  
to the library. I wish I knew what   
will happen to Draco, the one here.  
Does he marry Mirabille Frost?   
Does Regulus Black come back to  
Hogwarts? I wish I knew.  
I don't know why I'm writing this to  
you--I just need someone to talk  
to, I guess. Draco and I had a fight  
and I feel awful. 

_I suppose I shouldn't think about it._  
I should be thinking about how to  
get back. Professor Gullwing charmed  
a quill in the alcove near the potions  
classroom to alert me if that corridor  
moves. We're pretty sure that's how I   
ended up here--the alcove disappears and travels  
through time. What we don't know is if  
I can use it to go forward again.  
The alcove has this painting of a dark  
landscape in it. If it was a portrait then  
whoever was supposed to be there is  
off in another painting. I'm supposed to  
ask the portraits if they know anything,   
but I feel sort of foolish  
talking to them. Nothing for it, I guess.  
Hope to see you soon, 

_Love,  
Harry_

 

When he finished writing the letter, Harry's hand was cramped and cold. The wind off the lake was picking up and the sun was setting behind the castle. He blinked. There were a few places where teardrops had blotted the ink and he thought about throwing the letter away. Draco and I had a fight and I feel awful. The words looked stupid sitting there on the page and Harry felt sick. But he folded the parchment twice and made his way up to the castle.

He rushed past the house elves who were starting on the Halloween decorating in the entrance hall. By the time he had been up to the library and back down, dinner was underway. Harry went into the Great Hall and put on a modest smile when the Slytherin table erupted at his appearance. He noted there appeared to be some grudging applause from the other tables, as well. Well, it wasn't every day a Seeker leaped off his broom and caught the Snitch.

Harry ate sparingly, one eye glancing back at the double doors from time to time, expecting Malfoy to come in. But he didn't, and after the meal Harry let himself be drawn into a group getting ready to play Exploding Snap in the common room. The house elves had cleaned while they were at dinner and all trace of that afternoon's revelry was gone. Harry's heart was not in the game, though, and he begged off early, saying truthfully that he'd had a very tiring day.

He trudged down the corridor to the end and stood there staring at the heavy wooden door. He wondered if Malfoy had changed the password. Draco could easily make his life a misery--Harry hadn't really thought about how much he depended on him until now. He placed his hand on the latch, said "Dragon's blood," and felt relieved when the door swung inward.

Malfoy was at the writing desk, a seat Harry had never seen him in before, with his head bent over a book. He did not look up as Harry came in. Harry closed the door behind him as quietly as he could, then leaned against the wood, trying to think of something to say that would make things the way they were a few days before.

He couldn't think of anything. Apologize for what happened in the entrance hall? He couldn't even come up with the words. So he said, "Congratulations."

"For what, Potter?" Draco snapped, turning in his seat. Harry couldn't help but startle to see those eyes. Draco narrowed them. "You really are afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of you. I'm just freaked out by how you've changed," Harry shot back. "I told you, I know a Draco Malfoy in my time, and right now you look exactly like him. You sound like him. You ... you're acting like him."

Draco raised one eyebrow. "And I thought I was supposed to congratulate you, oh great Seeker. Or have you had enough of everyone kissing your arse today?"

Yes, that was just like the Draco Harry knew, to make something great sound cheap and awful. "Everyone has not been kissing my arse! And the congratulations were for your engagement, or were you planning to keep that a secret from me?"

Draco drew back in his chair, eyes wide for a moment before they settled back into a hard stare. "And what business is that of yours?"

Harry gaped. It was as if the talk about Whittington and jealousy they'd had never happened. As if Harry hadn't ever promised anything. As if they didn't mean anything to each other at all. As if Harry weren't a lover, or even a friend... 

Draco twisted the knife. "I mean, seriously, Potter, just because I let you shove your dick up my bum doesn't mean I'll invite you to the wedding."

Harry was about to say something like I thought we were friends, at least but now it just seemed ludicrous. Friends obviously didn't have this kind of fight. Didn't feel jealous this way. Didn't hurt like this. "I thought you were the one who didn't want me kissing Heather Whittington."

"Or Anisette Fogg," Draco hissed.

Harry blinked. His confusion now complete. "I've never kissed Anisette Fogg."

"Of course you didn't," Draco sneered. "Don't expect me to believe it, Potter. Or did you forget I found the two of you out after hours? Where did you go, up to the Astronomy Tower?"

Harry's blood ran cold, thinking of the last time he had been on that tower. With Malfoy, and Snape, and Dumbledore. But he tried to keep his mind on the current argument. "Dray, are you insane? That was the night I had detention with Black. Fogg and I were locked out by Frost's half-blood hex."

"Listen to the shite that comes out of your mouth. It's no wonder some teacher carved that line into your hand." Harry clenched that hand in a fist, but resisted the urge to hide it behind his back. "And did I ever say you could call me 'Dray'? I hate that. I can't believe I've been so stupid with you. A dray is a common workhorse, Potter. In fact, I don't think I even want you calling me Draco, anymore. It'll just remind me of how I let you touch me." His eyes were slitted with disgust. "I can't believe I ever trusted you."

Harry felt his face burning, his eyes stinging, and it was hard to breathe. "I can't believe how you've changed," he said.

"A weekend having shards of crystal removed from my corneas really opened my eyes," he said.

"For the last time, Malfoy, I didn't make that glass break."

"Liar." He seemed about to say something else, but then began to turn back to his book. 

"Oh yeah," Harry said, wanting to get the last word. "LeStrange told me to tell you, he wants to see you tomorrow night. Or Monday if you're too frail."

For an instant, Draco's pale skin seemed even paler, and his mask of anger and indifference slipped. He searched Harry's eyes, then looked away and soldiered on. "Bugger LeStrange. You tell him if you're his errand boy now." And with that, he did finally turn back to his book, his back to Harry. 

Harry sat down at the table and put his head in his hands, trying hard not to stare at the back of Draco's head. So, Draco thought Harry had jinxed the glass, and cheated on him with Fogg, and lied to him and been using him. Harry felt like he was staring at a pile of Devil's Snare with no way to untangle it. 

But even Devil's Snare could be beaten. He smiled as he thought about Hermione and how even though she was only eleven? twelve? at the time she had kept her wits about her and saved them all from being strangled. He took out a quill and parchment as if he were going to write an essay. But instead he thought about Hermione. What would she be asking him, if they were talking about his problems right now?

She would want to know why. Harry started making a list of the facts and putting events in order.

_DM meets Prof. L. (gets letter about engag.?)_  
TF puts hex on Common Room door.  
Detention with Black.  
AF locked out.  
Me, too.  
DM opens door, falls asleep. Claimed not to remember anything before waking up in the Common Room, but NOW claims to remember AF/HP together. 

Harry underlined that last as he realized there was a contradiction there. Malfoy's memory was always spotty after seeing LeStrange, but he could have been lying. Or someone else could have told him? Harry turned back to his list. He didn't feel the need to actually write what had happened next--they'd had some of the best sex ever, and Harry had let Malfoy... 

He cut off that thought and wrote instead:

_Missed breakfast._  
Spoke with Gullwing about alcove.  
Arrived at lunch, DM cold shoulder.  
Transfiguration class: glass shattered. 

He hadn't told Malfoy why he was late to lunch. Harry nearly groaned. In fact, he'd been lamely evasive, hadn't he. Is that what made Malfoy suspicious? He wracked his brain trying to remember if Anisette had been at table, but he couldn't remember. She was clearly seeing someone on the sly--had she come in with her hair mussed or something?

So, Draco was already upset about Mirabille Frost, then while out of sorts got suspicious that Harry was seeing Anisette, and then had a glass explode in his face.

Harry realized that there was one question he absolutely needed to answer. Who shattered the glass? He had assumed that Draco was angry enough that he had done it himself accidentally, but that didn't seem possible now. Who wanted to hurt Draco? And why?

Harry began another list.

_Phineas Black (hates him)_  
Whittington (jealous?)  
LeStrange (maybe?) 

None of those three made sense. Whittington was the only one there, and Harry didn't sense any real malice from her. The only person he'd really sensed malice from in recent weeks had been Timothy Frost, first over the Seeker thing, then the pureblood thing. Harry suddenly wondered how Frost felt about Draco Malfoy marrying his sister. Well, Draco was a pureblood, but now that Harry thought about it, Frost's comments about Draco hadn't exactly been complimentary.

Harry wondered if Draco had other enemies he wasn't even aware of. The very thought made him tired. He looked at the parchment one last time then burned it to ash with a quick spell. Draco flinched at the flash and whoosh of the instant of burning, but did not turn around. Harry went as quickly as he could through his nightly ablutions and got into bed and closed his curtains. The silencing charm was two-way--Harry could no longer hear the flip of a page as Draco read or the rustle of his clothes against the chair.

The bed still seemed too large when he was alone in it. He cast a warming charm on one of his pillows and hugged it to his chest, though the fire burned low in the hearth before he eventually fell asleep.

In the morning, Draco was already gone when Harry got up. He was just leaving breakfast in the Great Hall when Harry arrived at the table. He lived through a few more retellings of yesterday's match, and then Crabbe pulled him aside under pretense of talking strategy for the match against Hufflepuff next month. 

"Harry," Crabbe said when no one was paying attention to them. "Is Draco all right? He seems... different."

Suspicion flared in Harry again. He still had trouble believing that his Draco would hurt him this much. "Let's talk about it somewhere else."

"All right." Crabbe looked around. "Errr..."

"Let's go back downstairs. Want to help me eat my chocolate snitches?"

"Sure thing, Harry!"

Harry collected some of the gift candy he'd been given and they went to Crabbe's room which he shared with Barnabas Carrow. Barnie was off to the library already, so they had the place to themselves. Their room was about half the size of Draco's, which made it still twice as large as the Gryffindor tower room that Harry shared with Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus. They sat on the bed and batted the chocolate snitches back and forth a bit before eating them. 

"So what do you think, Hector?" Harry finally said. "You've known Malfoy a lot longer than I have."

Crabbe shook his head. "This is what he was like after Reg left. Cold. He was like that until you came."

Harry found himself staring at Crabbe's green satin coverlet and tugging at a loose thread on his socks. "LeStrange called him 'volatile.' By which I think he meant easily upset."

"Yeah, I suppose. The thing about Draco is, when he's upset he usually doesn't show it. So for him to show it this much, well, it must be really bad."

Harry hadn't thought about it that way. "Did you know Mirabille Frost?"

"Uh, yeah, a bit. She only left last year."

"Was she pretty? Was she nice?"

Crabbe furrowed his brow as he thought. "Oh yeah, very pretty. But kind of a pill, that one, actually."

"Like her brother?"

"Yeah. Bossy, too. A real queen bee. She really had a thing for Draco for a while, too, did you know that? Quite a crush. Couldn't understand why he wouldn't bow down to her. But you know, Draco doesn't bow to anybody."

Obviously Draco hadn't told Crabbe about the engagement and Harry wasn't sure if it would be breaking a confidence to tell him. He also wasn't sure if he cared. "Well, I heard that last week the Malfoys and Frosts cut a deal to marry Mirabille to Draco."

Crabbe smacked his forehead against his meaty hand. "No wonder. He really hates her guts. Merlin's beard, I'm sure Tim Frost is beside himself, too. He... well..." Crabbe turned a bit red and sputtered to a halt.

"He doesn't think too highly of Draco," Harry prompted.

Crabbe put his hands on his knees and looked Harry in the eye. "I've known Draco since we were small. So there's nothing about him that will surprise me."

"Uh..." Harry wasn't sure what to say to that.

"Look, Harry. I know about him and Reg. I know about him and you. It's all right."

Harry stared in open-mouthed shock. 

"Okay, it's not 'all right,' but it is, because it's Draco." Crabbe rubbed his cheeks with his palms. "I mean, I'm not that way, and I don't like wizards who are. Except you, you're okay. And Draco. You really made him happy, Harry, and now..."

"I understand." Well, he didn't. not completely, but what Crabbe said made a twisted sort of sense. "Look, Hector, he's really mad at me right now. He thinks I cheated on him, and I don't know how to make up with him."

"Did you?"

"Cheat on him? No! He thinks I ran around with Anisette Fogg." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Fogg? That's funny. Everyone knows she's seeing a Ravenclaw named McGee or Madden or something like that."

"Mardigan?" Harry blurted out, remembering the one who Draco said had almost taken his eye out during dueling practice.

"Yeah, yeah, that's it." Crabbe whistled. "So why does he think she's seeing you?"

"We got locked out together the night Frost put the hex on the door. I didn't think anything of it, but Draco apparently took it the wrong way."

Crabbe got a dark look in his eye. "Frost."

Harry. "Yeah, weren't you there when LeStrange broke the hex and dragged him off and flogged him?"

"Yeah. But I mean Friday at lunch, when Anisette was late coming in, he embarrassed her in front of the whole table. I figured he was just after her because he was on his whole pureblood thing...."

Harry grabbed a fistful of the coverlet. "What did he say?"

"I don't remember. And you know, I thought Draco was going to put him in his place--really looking forward to that, actually--but then you came in and he seemed to forget all about it."

Harry took a deep breath. "So this is all Frost's fault." Harry's fingers twitched as he imagined getting Frost's wand and testing to see if a reductor curse had been cast any time recently.

"What are you going to do?" Crabbe sat up, eager to help.

"Right now, I'm not sure. I've got to convince Draco that I'm telling the truth, and that might take a while." 

"What should I do?"

Harry considered. "Keep Draco occupied if you can. He needs his friends. And keep an eye on Frost. And I'll keep working on it from my end."

Crabbe cracked his knuckles. "I could work on Frost a bit more, if you like."

"No, no," Harry said quickly. "Not yet, anyway."

"All right," Crabbe agreed, a note of disappointment in his voice. 

"Thanks, Hector. You're a true friend."

Harry managed to avoid Draco the rest of the day. He was sitting in the room after dinner, though, finishing some homework for Monday when the blond wizard came in. Ignoring Harry, he went to the writing desk and sat down.

Harry bit his lip. Now that his anger was aimed at Frost, he didn't feel as angry toward Draco, though he still felt hurt. 

After a few moments, Draco went into the wash room. He came out with his hair combed back and shrugged on his robes. He pulled his wand from the pocket, looked at it, then placed it carefully on the nightstand. He did not look up at Harry, but Harry had the feeling he knew Harry was watching his every move. 

Then with great deliberation, he picked up his wand and put it into his robe pocket. Then he placed his hand on the door handle, and paused as if he were going to say something.

But he did not say anything, and neither did Harry. He went out with a quiet rustle of robes and door closed behind him, the latch giving a metallic clank.

Harry had the urge to grab his Invisibility Cloak and follow. Draco was going to LeStrange's, that much was clear, and Harry did not want to miss a chance to unravel what mystery still lurked there. But if he wasn't Draco's lover anymore, or even friend, what good would it do? Harry clenched his teeth. The anger was still there. Of course it was. 

He banged his fist on the table and jumped in surprise when it cracked clear through and fell into pieces. A quick Reparo made it good as new, and dampened his anger to a kind of resentment. He would not follow him. Not this time. Not until he asked for help.

But Harry's resolve was not that good. He had the cloak on and was in the corridor sneaking as fast as he could toward LeStrange's door before he knew it. The eavesdropping spell revealed total silence--where were they? Harry dug the Marauder's Map out of his bag and scanned it for their names. Ah. They were walking together, in the corridor by the Arithmancy classroom. They were heading for the stairs, which meant they were probably heading here.

Harry tried a silent Alohomora on the lock and was surprised to find it worked. He had expected LeStrange to have stronger security. Harry slipped inside and looked for a place to hide himself. There was a bit of nook between a tall bookshelf and a large trunk in the wall opposite the fireplace. He squeezed himself in, making sure the cloak went completely to the floor.

While he waited, he looked around the office in a way he hadn't when he had been sitting there with LeStrange. Two wingbacked chairs by the fireplace, shelves upon shelves made of dark, polished wood and covered with books, the large desk, one chair in front of it, one chair behind it. There were two other doors, as well, one behind the desk that Harry assumed went to LeStrange's quarters, and another that might have been a closet or storage room. Harry thought about trying that door now, but he wanted to be out of the way when they came in. So he waited. The only sound besides the crackling of the spelled fire in the grate was Harry's blood in his ears as he waited for Draco and LeStrange to come through the door.


	15. Chapter 15

The door from the corridor unlatched, and in came LeStrange. "Really, Draco, are you sure you're feeling all right?"

"I assure you, I'm quite recovered, professor." He closed the door behind him, locked it, then sealed it with another spell, an Imperturbable by the look of it. "Now I want some answers, LeStrange."

The professor looked taken aback as Draco's wand swung toward him. "Draco, I assure you, that's not nec..."

"Professor. I have some very serious questions which need answers. I am sure, given the nature of these questions, that you will not mind indulging my... caution." He waved the wand toward one of the leather-bound chairs by the fire. "Please have a seat."

LeStrange sat down.

"Accio Professor LeStrange's wand," Draco then said, and the wand slid from the inner pocket of LeStrange's robe to Draco's hand. "Now. Please. Let me explain myself."

LeStrange nodded.

"Someone has been tampering with my memories. Every time I visit you, it seems. I'm here for an explanation."

LeStrange's shoulders sagged. "I told him the charm would begin to lose its effectiveness after a while."

"Told whom?"

LeStrange looked up. "Regulus."

"I don't believe you."

LeStrange sat up straighter, as if shocked. "Mr. Malfoy! I have tried to help you at every turn. I have lied to protect you, jeopardized my own career..."

"Convince me. I'm not in a very trusting mood right now."

LeStrange began to stand but a warning shake of Draco's wand and he settled back on his chair. "I think the only way to solve this is to have Regulus do the talking. If we can reach him, that is."

Draco took the tin of Floo powder from the mantle and thrust it at LeStrange.

"We have to use the Floo in the bedroom. It is the one with the unauthorized connection," LeStrange explained. "Or didn't you wonder why he never came in this way?"

Draco sneered. "Of course not, since I never remembered seeing him in the first place."

"Oh, right. Um..."

"You first, I'm following you." Draco held his wand out, and backed toward the door behind the desk. LeStrange came around and opened it, then went in. 

Harry waited until they had both gone through the doorway to sneak from his hiding place toward it. He stopped at the door, which remained open, and peered into the room. LeStrange's quarters were down two short steps and featured a bedroom as large as Draco's, though it was round like a tower room and dominated by a large, circular bed tossed with green satin pillows. 

LeStrange tossed a pinch of powder into the fire, knelt down, and thrust his head into the flames. He spoke briefly, but apparently heatedly to the person on the other end--neither Harry nor Draco could hear what was being said, but they could see his shoulders tensing and moving as he argued. Then he pulled back and shook soot from his shaggy hair. "All right. He's coming. He'll be here as soon as he can. Would you like to be alone, or would you prefer I stay, given your questions?"

Draco wavered, then sat on the edge of the bed, his wand and LeStrange's held rigid in one hand. "Stay for now," he said.

LeStrange remained standing by the fireplace, his hands clasped in front of his belly. 

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes until the Floo flared and out stepped a tall, slender wizard. He wore knee-high soft boots, leggings, a tailored ruffled shirt, untucked, and had waves of black hair partly bound back in a black velvet ribbon which appeared to have come loose as he spun in the Floo. He shook his head and the rest of it came cascading loose, the ribbon falling on the floor. 

Then his eyes focused on Draco and the wands. "Draco? What's going on?"

"I'd like to ask you the same thing, Regulus," Draco replied, but the hard edge of his voice wavered. "I know I come here to see you. Why don't I remember? What are you doing to me?"

LeStrange and Black exchanged a look. "I told you so," LeStrange said.

"Shut up, you," Regulus replied and Harry started in surprise that he would address a professor that way. The dark-haired wizard stepped toward Draco, one hand on his hip. "You want to know what I am doing to you?"

Harry saw Draco swallow. Black walked up to him until his thighs touched Draco's knees. He leaned forward gently, picking both wands out of Draco's limp fingers and placing one on the nightstand. He flicked the other and his buttons popped, and now Harry could see an impressive-looking erection outlined clearly by the leggings. Black put the other wand aside as well, then ran his fingers down his bare stomach, under the waistband of the leggings, and shoved them downward, freeing his erection. 

Draco gripped him by the hips, a whimpering sound escaping his throat. He seemed to have forgotten LeStrange was there, still standing immobile by the fire. 

Regulus held Draco's hands against his hips and leaned back so his cock nudged against Draco's face. Draco turned aside at first, but then began trying to catch that cock in his mouth with his lips and tongue. Regulus pulled away and to the side, teasing, avoiding, until Draco slid off the bed onto his knees, pulling him in as he tried to step back. Draco swallowed him fully, down to the root, and Regulus said "Good boy. That's my Draco."

Harry closed his eyes, but now he could hear the sounds of the sucking, the wetness of Draco's lips and the pop and smack as Regulus fucked his mouth. Then a rustling sound, Harry opened his eyes to see Regulus had shucked the shirt to the floor. He picked up Draco's wand and waved it, and Draco's robes, shirt, and trousers fell away like petals of a flower. 

Black then lifted Draco by the armpits, naked and glowing in the firelight, out of the circle of now-loose cloth and pushed him back onto the bed. 

"Reg," Draco said, as Black ran his hands down Draco's ribs, then cupped his balls in one. "I need to talk to you."

"Later. Now look at the state you've put the professor in." He gestured back at LeStrange who was transfixed, one hand stroking his groin through his robes. "Don't you think you owe him some thanks for all he's done for us? I know I do." He leaned over and kissed Draco deeply. "I couldn't live without this. Without you."

Draco whimpered. "Reg, I... You know I'll do anything you want. But I..."

"Shhh." Regulus Black kicked off his boots and slipped his leggings off as well, then lay his naked body alongside Draco's. "Would it be all right if he watched? I'm sure he's thought about what it must be like, the two of us, isn't that right, you old pervert?"

LeStrange nodded in response. 

"I want you to wank while watching us."

"Yes, Reg," LeStrange said, hurrying to free his cock from his clothes. 

Regulus turned his attention back to Draco. "I've been masturbating myself raw thinking about you." He thrust his cock against Draco's leg. "Come here." 

Draco was like a rag doll in his arms. Regulus turned him until Draco was curled in a ball under him, his hand moving between them. Then Draco suddenly stiffened and Harry knew Regulus had penetrated him. For a moment he didn't know with what--his finger? his cock?--but then the motion made clear it was his cock. His thrusts were hard and short at the beginning, and Draco cried out, clutching at the bedcovers.

Harry clenched his fists. He knew Draco liked it rough, and he knew the sounds he was making. But it was still hard to watch, hard to stand by and listen to cries that sounded like cries of pain.

Black pressed Draco's head into the pillows with one hand, Draco's wand in the other again. "Engorgio," he incanted softly, the wand tip pointed at the place where their bodies joined, and Draco's cries became frantic. Black's hand slid from the top of Draco's head to his neck, half-choking him against the bed as he held him in place and thrust harder.

LeStrange could not keep his feet and he fell to his knees at the side of the bed, pulling furiously on his own cock.

Regulus held the wand in his teeth and began to spank Draco with his free hand, one slap for each long, deep thrust. But he could not keep that up long, and he wrapped both arms around Draco's ribcage and squeezed hard as his hips jerked and he emptied himself into him. When his convulsive orgasm was finished, Regulus Black lay with his forehead against Draco's spine, panting, the wand still in his mouth and his hair thrown in a wild tangle over them both.

He sat up slowly, running his hands over Draco's back, then disengaged with a jerk and Draco cried out once more.

Black climbed off the bed, giving LeStrange a contemptuous look as the man looked about for his own wand to perform a cleaning spell. Black flicked Draco's wand toward him and LeStrange gasped and doubled over briefly, but then stood and refastened his trousers. 

Black's ribs showed as he stretched languidly, his endowments spelled back to their normal size. Draco had not moved from where he lay face down on the bed. "Draco," Black said. "Roll over, dearest."

Draco did as he was bid, revealing his face red and tear-streaked and his erection looking similar. 

Black toyed with the wand in his fingers. "So, you want to know why it is I erase your memory of every meeting?"

Draco nodded.

"I will give you a choice this time. When we are finished, I will ask you if you want to keep this memory or not. But if you choose to keep the knowledge, it is dangerous, you realize that? Of course you do. You know what my family would do. What the headmaster would do." He clucked his tongue. "You haven't come yet."

Draco seemed unable to speak, unable to move other than to tremble slightly.

"Spread your legs." Regulus Black motioned with the wand and Draco complied. Another motion and the coverlet itself reached up like four hands, immobilizing Draco's wrists and ankles. 

Regulus leaned over and kissed Draco on the lips. Then he transfigured the wand in his hand into a switch. Neither Draco nor Harry's eyes left it as he swished it experimentally through the air. 

"Draco, if you come, it will be because of how much you love me, and I love you," he said, running the tip of the switch lightly over Draco's balls. "Do you love me?"

"Yes," Draco said, a low hiss.

With that, Black began to whip him lightly on the balls. Draco writhed under the sensation but the hands held him fast, and he pressed his head back into the bed. Even Harry had to admit that he didn't look like a man who was suffering. He looked enraptured, every fiber aquiver with need. 

Black's strokes became harder and spaced further apart, and now Draco began to cry out again. Sweat beaded on his forehead and now he began to sound again like it hurt. Harry could not help but clench his knees in sympathy--that had to hurt. 

But when Black paused for a moment, to wipe the sweat off his own brow and the hair out of his eyes, Draco panted out, "Please, don't stop... please, Reg..."

And so Black whipped him on the balls until he came, screaming, in great white spurts onto his own stomach. 

"You see, you do love me," Black said, trailing his fingers through the come and then pushing them into Draco's mouth. Draco whimpered but sucked. "So, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

Draco looked up into Black's eyes. As Black withdrew his fingers from his mouth, he took a shuddering breath and then spoke. "My parents. They've betrothed me to Mirabille Frost."

Harry couldn't see Black's face, hidden under his hair as he leaned over Draco. But he heard the reply. "How soon?"

"I'm to sign the marriage contract tomorrow. The wedding will be right after graduation."

"This changes nothing, you realize." Black trailed his fingers over Draco's slick stomach again. "Once you bed her and get an heir, I'm sure the rest of your family could not care less who or what you do."

"But..."

"Is that all you wanted to tell me?" Black ran a wet finger over Draco's lips. "Or were you going to tell me what happened to your hair and eyes?"

"An accident. In Transfiguration class." Draco's voice trembled a bit as he spoke. 

"You should be more careful," Black said, then stood. He swayed a bit on his feet.

LeStrange leapt to steady him. 

"It's all right," Black said, waving him off. "They have me on so many different potions. Every one supposed to make me forget the way I feel." He took a deep breath then turned back to Draco, who was still bound to the bed. "To forget how much I love you. To forget how much I love hurting you." He reached over and twisted one of Draco's nipples and Draco gasped. "I have to go. If I'm not there for the next dose, I'll be missed."

Draco nodded.

"Do you really want to remember me this way?"

Draco nodded again.

And with that, Black spelled himself clothed again, boots and all, lay Draco's wand on the mantel, threw a handful of Floo powder into the flames, and disappeared.

As soon as he was gone, the coverlet returned to being a coverlet and Draco rolled onto his side with a moan. LeStrange was there, a conjured glass of water in his hand. He helped Draco to sit up and sip it. Draco reached toward his wand but only Summoned it partway and it fell to the stone floor with a clatter. 

LeStrange picked up his own wand from the table and spelled Draco clean with something that looked a good deal gentler than what Black had done. Draco fell back with one arm over his eyes as LeStrange set about resurrecting Draco's clothing. 

Finally Draco asked, "Is it always like that?"

LeStrange started, dropping Draco's shirt on the floor. "I suppose. I'm not usually in the room during your congress, you realize."

"I don't remember."

LeStrange folded the clothes and robes into a neat pile and placed them on the bed within Draco's reach. "I usually only see you afterward. Sometimes, I gather from your marks and injuries, it's much worse. That's why he usually wants you to forget."

Draco sat up and began pulling his clothes on. "It still doesn't make sense to me. Why he would want me to forget it, I mean. He always hurt me when he was still here." He frowned at the socks which did not appear to match, but put them on anyway. "Did you know he slept with Whittington, just to make trouble?"

"Draco..."

Draco stepped into his trousers and then began tucking in his shirt. "Unless my memories of before were altered, I've let him do much, much worse to me."

"Because you love him," LeStrange said in an almost inaudible voice.

Draco looked up, his silver eyes flashing in the fire light. "He was the first person who cared enough to give me what I needed."

LeStrange handed Draco his wand. "But is he the only one?"

Draco snatched the wand and stowed it. "That is not your business."

LeStrange sighed. "Don't forget the headmaster."

Draco took a few steps toward the doorway and Harry hurriedly backed up. "Yes, old Phineas. If he knew how intractable Reg was to the treatments and potions, what would he do? I know. I know." He walked through the doorway and sat down in one of the wing chairs, resting his elbows on his knees. "Still, it's not as if the headmaster is in the habit of reading my mind." But upon saying that Draco suddenly sat up straight. 

"What is it?" LeStrange asked, as he came into the room himself.

"Nothing. I just realized... it's nothing." Draco stood.

"If you're having second thoughts, I will gladly perform the charm myself," LeStrange said.

Draco shook his head. "No, I had better go. It's better I remember this."

"Very well," LeStrange said, and moved toward the door to the corridor. He drew his wand and then said "Hmmm. I think you had best be the one to remove the Imperturbable, Draco."

"Yes." Draco drew his wand, cleared the door of his wards, and then reached for the handle.

"I'm sorry, Draco," LeStrange said. "Obliviate exculpo memoria commutato."

Draco opened the door, went out, and it latched shut behind him. LeStrange watched him go, then crossed the room and hopped down the steps into the bedroom.

Harry followed but stopped in the doorway. He drew his own wand and then pulled off the cloak. "Excuse me, professor," he said in the politest voice he could manage given that he was shaking with rage, "But I believe you and I need to talk."


	16. Chapter 16

LeStrange looked up with a start from the bed, which he had begun stripping of its sheets. "Hello, Harry," he said with forced cheerfulness. "Um, just dropping by for a cup of tea, then?"

"Please, professor..." Harry found himself blushing even though he should be the one doing the excoriating. "I've been here the whole time. I saw everything."

LeStrange drew a deep breath and composed himself, the sheets pooling around his feet. "Well, then you know how important these... trysts... are to Draco." He almost sounded convincing. Guiltless.

"And how about you, professor?" Harry took a step into the room, noting that Black's wand was sitting on the small table near the door. Good. "How important are they to you?"

LeStrange's face crumpled, the guilt he had been holding back gushing forth. "You have no idea how difficult..." he began, then stopped. He gave a short laugh--of relief, or so it sounded to Harry. "I assure you, my only intent in aiding Regulus and Draco was to help them. I had no idea that I would become so... drawn in. That Black would be so... insistent." His face was scarlet and he seemed to be having trouble drawing breath. "I had no idea!" He reached down for the bedclothes and balled them up. 

Harry narrowed his eyes, but tried to put on a sympathetic face. Legilimency was easier when the subject wasn't defensive. "It's all right, professor," he said, coming fully into the room. "I... I understand." Legilimens.

LeStrange tossed the ball of fabric into the fireplace and it flared magically, incinerating the sheets in an instant. "Sweet Merlin, I'm such a romantic fool. I saw two young wizards in love being separated by a meddling, bitter old ... well, I shouldn't speak of him that way... I truly just wanted to help."

Harry could indeed see the memories as they surfaced, of the two of them, Regulus and Draco, sitting together at table, laughing about something, of LeStrange arguing with the headmaster, of speaking furtively with Draco.

But there was still something LeStrange was hiding. He was tricky, having buried some knowledge so deep it was where he himself hardly could access it. LeStrange truly believed his romantic half-truth...

There. Oh. Harry schooled the surprise from his face and voice, and spoke as if he had known it all along. "So, when did you sleep with Regulus Black?"

"Oh oh oh..." LeStrange said, unable to speak a coherent word for a moment. His legs gave out and he sat on the bare mattress, his eyes fixed on the flagstones in front of the fireplace. "A-a-about a year ago. Only the once, you understand. Such a mistake. B-but it was hard to turn down such an offer..."

Harry could see the memory clearly. Regulus, cocky, his mouth red and inviting, his hands sure and sensual. Regulus' seduction of him made all the easier by LeStrange's long celibacy, ever since coming to teach at Hogwarts... and images of Draco overlaying those of Regulus Black.

"But it was really Draco you lusted after." Harry managed to put a thoroughly empathetic and understanding tone into his voice, maybe because he knew just how it felt to desire Draco. 

"Yes, devil below, yes." LeStrange hung his head. "But I never would have... that is... when Regulus came to me for help, to arrange for them to meet--you do realize, I hope, that he blackmailed me, yes, I really didn't have any choice in the matter. Though I wanted to help, of course. I wanted to help them, and Draco especially." His shoulders began to shake and Harry realized the man was crying silently.

Pathetic, but Harry kept on with another gentle probe. "So, Regulus was always very... manipulative, wasn't he?"

"Yes. To me, and also to Draco. I see that now. But Draco l-l-loved him, and who was I to judge?"

Harry found LeStrange's memories became difficult to read as the older man became more and more upset. It was as if his mind were so awhirl, it was like trying to read a newspaper in a windy snowstorm. 

"Professor, would you like a little tea?"

LeStrange looked up, confusion and relief mingling on his face. His eyes went to his wand on the table.

"I'll do it," Harry said, though he did not mention the wand. He conjured a pot of Earl Grey and two cups, poured with one hand, and then handed the cup by its rim (he had forgotten to conjure saucers) to the shaken professor.

"Thank you, my boy." LeStrange held the cup in his hands and stared at the floor again.

Harry had one more suspicion he needed to follow up on. One more accusation to make. But he waited until LeStrange's agitation had partly settled. I need to make sure he thinks I'm on his side, Harry reminded himself. He kept his Harry-knows-everything tone. "So, you've never actually slept with Draco."

LeStrange shook his head. "Only in my dreams. Merlin knows I've wanted to, but I've never laid a hand on him."

There was something sad, Harry thought, about the fact that that was the truth. If things really were the way Harry suspected they were, LeStrange would have had plenty of chances. He picked up his own teacup in his left hand, his wand still in his right, and sat in the ornate wooden chair that matched the table. Here goes. "So, when did the headmaster start blackmailing you?"

LeStrange startled at that, his expression of surprise becoming familiar to Harry. "How did you...?" He could see the man's eyes white with fear and he tightened his grip on his wand in case he needed to stun him. LeStrange sputtered. "How did you...?"

Harry couldn't very well tell him that it was the flavor of licorice and a familiar-looking wand transfiguration that led him to guess. "You haven't answered my question," Harry said softly.

LeStrange slumped again, defeated. He looked as pale and worn as the bare mattress. "He found out before their very first meeting. He's made quite certain that Regulus and Draco won't be meeting again."

Harry nodded. "So, Polyjuice, then."

"Polyjuice."

"And you never turned yourself into Reg Black, not even once?" Harry knew he hadn't but he wanted to hear LeStrange say it.

"No. Never. By Salazar I was tempted to, though."

"Not even to give Draco... a good experience?"

LeStrange shook his head. "He would have known it wasn't Reg. That or it would have broken his heart to finally have his lover acting like a romantic fool." He took a gulp of the tea and grimaced. "I don't think Draco is exactly realistic about Regulus, if you see what I mean."

Harry spelled the fire a bit higher as the thoughts he had chilled him. "You don't think Regulus loved him?"

LeStrange stood up, carried his teacup to the table and set it down. "He did. In his way, he did. But don't you find it... heartbreaking... that all this time Draco has been meeting secretly not with someone who loves him, but with someone who hates him--and Draco can't tell the difference?"

Perhaps, Harry thought, that was as much a comment about the Blacks as it was about Draco. Harry resisted the urge to spell the fire higher still. Heartbreaking was a good word for it if LeStrange felt the way Harry did, like something made of rusted iron were twisting through his chest as he thought about it. "It's wrong, is what it is."

LeStrange agreed with a murmur, then went to the wardrobe and pulled out a set of clean sheets.

"You don't have the house elves do it?" Harry asked, curious.

LeStrange shook out a forest green sheet and began tucking it around the corners. "You may consider me eccentric, but I cannot abide the creatures. And as you may have noticed, I have some secrets to keep." He smiled sadly toward Harry.

Harry was not finished talking about Draco, though. "So then, who's worse? Regulus or Phineas Black?" Harry's eyes were bright and hard as he asked, the fierce protectiveness that he felt toward Draco welling up in full force.

"Oh, Phineas is certainly the worse sadist." LeStrange seemed pained to say it, even as he kept his hands busy, picking up the coverlet from the floor and shaking it out. "Regulus was manipulative, and he satisfied Draco's need for pain, for catharsis, but he was not in the same league with his grandfather. And as I said, Regulus at least had some... positive emotions for Draco. Phineas has none."

Harry swore under his breath. "In my time we have a definition of evil, but I think I may have just discovered a new one." Now it was his mind which was awhirl with thoughts. He put down his tea cup. "So, let me see if I have the story straight, all right, professor?"

LeStrange smoothed the coverlet, tossed the pillows haphazardly toward the headboard and sat with his hands folded as if waiting for a student recital.

Harry took a breath. "So. Regulus Black and Draco Malfoy were secret... lovers while students at Hogwarts. And, well, Black screwed around with Malfoy, but at least they had each other. They were found out by the headmaster and Regulus Black was shipped off to ... a sanatorium? Right? And you--incidentally blackmailed by Regulus Black, with whom you'd had an ill-fated thing--agreed to try to right the injustice of them being split up by helping them meet. Only before they even got to meet, the headmaster got wind of that, too, and blackmailed you even further into letting him stand in for Black so he could... rape and torture Draco. Does that about cover it?"

LeStrange nodded again, looking more miserable than Harry had ever seen a person.

Harry almost hated to make him even more miserable. "Professor," he said in a gentle voice. "Did you ever think that maybe the, er, the headmaster might have polyjuiced into Regulus Black a bit earlier than ...?"

He saw LeStrange's eyes go wide and then he clutched his stomach as if he had just been kicked. "No. Regulus, he..."

"I mean, think about it," Harry said, almost hating the conclusion he had come to. "You were already inclined to help Reg and Draco get together. Was it your idea? No, you said it was Regulus Black's. He came to you. And he blackmailed you when he probably didn't have to." Harry watched as LeStrange's hands moved to his head and he rocked slightly. "How do you know that it wasn't the headmaster all along?"

LeStrange sat silent for a few moments, and although Harry was not reading his mind, he could see what LeStrange was doing was replaying his encounter with Regulus in his mind. It had been a good, if guilty memory, and now it was not even that. 

"Do you know where Reg Black is now?" Harry asked.

LeStrange shook his head. "I did try to owl him, twice. But they came back--couldn't find him. Now I know it wouldn't have mattered, anyway." With a tinge of grief in his voice, LeStrange said "I told you I was a romantic fool."

Harry stood up but couldn't quite bring himself to go over to comfort the man. "A very wise wizard once told me that the power to love is one of the greatest powers in the world," he said. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"But the things that I've done... and Draco..." LeStrange was dry-crying now, like what few tears he had were used up.

"I know, Professor. But that's why you have to help me make things right."

LeStrange just sobbed and heaved, his hands still clasped together.

"Really, sir. It's your only chance to make amends to the people you've hurt. We can't allow it to go on any longer. Phineas Black needs to be stopped."

"But what can we do?"

"I've had plenty of experience fighting dark wizards," Harry said, desperate to convince LeStrange that his would be the winning side. Because that was the best way to secure the support of a Slytherin, wasn't it? "Phineas Black shouldn't be that much of a challenge." He sat down on the edge of the bed, a few feet separating him from LeStrange. "If I have your help, that is."

The professor gulped and took a calming breath. "I suppose you have a plan."

"The beginning of one, anyway. A lot depends on you."

LeStrange rubbed his face with his hands and looked at Harry. "You really are a truly exceptional wizard, Harry. But before you go on with your plan, might I point something out?"

"What is it, professor?"

"In the course of this conversation, it seems to me that twice, perhaps thrice, you said something about your time. Is the geas still working?"

Harry stood up suddenly. He took a step toward the hearth then turned to face LeStrange. He would have to try saying something to test it. "My mother's name was Lily Evans." He felt barely a tickle in his throat. "Um, it seems to have weakened. A ministry official is supposed to come Tuesday to renew it, though."

LeStrange smiled. "You're really quite special, you know that, don't you?"

"I know," Harry said, thinking you don't know the half of it, and geas or no, I'm not telling you. "Listen, I'm quite sure that I'll be returning to 1997, I just don't know when. So I think we should..."

"Move with alacrity?" LeStrange suggested.

"Uh, not wait around, yeah," Harry finished. He looked LeStrange in the eye. "Listen, I don't know if it will help you to hear this, but... in my time, gay wizards don't have to keep it a secret. At least, not in Britain. Not anymore."

Now tears did well up in LeStrange's eyes. "I'll help you, Harry."

"Thanks, professor. Now let's talk about a plan." Harry gestured to the doorway. "I think we ought to go into the office for this, don't you?" He felt about as comfortable in LeStrange's bedroom as he had in the Room of Correction.

LeStrange looked around the room and nodded. He picked up his wand and spelled the teapot to follow them. 

An hour later, Harry was quite convinced of LeStrange's cooperation, and the plan was taking shape, but there were still a few elements to work out. As they wound down, though, Harry realized there was one more thing he needed to talk to LeStrange about.

"So, professor," he said, as he stood to go. "I wondered if you knew, that memory charm you used... did you know it leaves Draco quite, um, drained?"

LeStrange's face twitched as he got to his feet. "How so?"

"To the point where he can barely walk and falls asleep the moment he comes to rest," Harry said. "I think it's been getting worse. Ennervate wakes him up, but..." 

LeStrange nodded. "He will suffer no permanent effects since no one will be casting that spell on him again. I imagine you'll want to tell Draco of our plans?" LeStrange said as he saw Harry to the door.

"Um, actually, not yet, professor. I'll tell him when the time is right." Harry held out his hand. "Could I see your wand for a moment?"

"Oh, um, certainly." LeStrange summoned his wand from the desk, where it was lying next to the tea, and handed it to Harry.

"Thank you, sir." Harry put the two wand tips together, his own and LeStrange's and then concentrated. Blue and green light flared from his to LeStrange's and back. He nodded as if satisfied with the results. "Here you are. I'm sure you understand. Can't be too careful."

"No, no, of course not," LeStrange said, taking his wand gingerly in two fingers from Harry. 

"Well, good night, professor." And with that Harry backed out of the office and shut the door firmly behind him. 

He chuckled as he walked down the hallway toward the dormitory. LeStrange really was a fool, but Harry knew that he thought of Harry as an unusually powerful wizard. He no doubt thought Harry had applied some kind of truthfulness or faithfulness charm to his wand. Harry would have loved to do something that would insure that LeStrange wouldn't betray him and Draco to the headmaster, but he didn't actually know any such spell. So he just created a pretty glow. Hopefully their problems would be over before LeStrange ever found out.

Now the question became how to handle Draco. Harry really wasn't sure what he was going to say. There was a part of him that wanted to scream about how unfair it was, that Draco could blame Harry for hurting him, lying to him, and cheating on him, when in fact that was exactly what was happening to him, but not from Harry! 

Maybe that's why it's so easy for him to believe, Harry thought. He's never really been treated well. He was probably asleep, though, given what had happened earlier.

Harry was so absorbed by these thoughts that he didn't notice a wizard in traveling robes and a hat walking toward him, a bag in one hand until he was almost even with him.

"Malfoy?"

"Potter." Draco tipped his hat but did not meet Harry's eyes.

"Are you all right?"

Draco's eyes narrowed, but he did not answer the question. "I won't be in class tomorrow, but I left the books on the table for you."

"You won't?" Harry said, almost surprised that Draco spoke to him, even if his voice was still ice cold.

Cold, but civil. "I'm signing my marriage contract tomorrow. I'm off to the manor tonight with the headmaster's permission."

Harry's throat suddenly seemed stuck. "How are you getting there?"

"Floo."

"Not LeStrange's...?" Harry said without thinking.

Draco's eyes darkened. "The headmaster's."

"Can't you use someone else's?" Harry said, his protectiveness asserting itself so strongly that he knew what he was saying made no sense.

Draco looked at him, in fact, as if he had just spoken in Aramaic.

"I just... I don't trust the headmaster. You know he hates you, Dr--"

Draco recoiled. "As if it's any of your business, Potter? But if it will let you sleep at night, my father is on the board of governors. And he's waiting there for me now, in Black's office. So I think I shall be quite all right."

Harry slumped. "All right, then. Just... be careful. Malfoy." He said this to Draco's retreating back, feeling stupid.

It IS stupid, he thought to himself. I know what's going on, but he doesn't. So of course he's still angry, and I'm not. What would happen if Harry acted like nothing had changed between them? Could he make it the way it was before? 

He would have to wait to find out, he supposed. Malfoy was gone for now. Harry dragged into the Common Room to find it mostly deserted, two fourth years studying quietly in one corner. Actually one of them was studying, the other had already fallen asleep with her head in her book. 

Harry knew he should try to sleep, but at the moment he was sure he couldn't. The thought of sitting in Draco's room alone didn't appeal to him either. So, he sat in a chair in the Common Room, spelled the fire up higher, and tried to read his Theory of Magic text. If he was the slightest bit sleepy, the turgid writing style in the book usually put him straight to sleep. 

But he wasn't sleepy. The two fourth years packed it in, and now that all was quiet, the image of Draco's body curled under Black's, the sound of his cries as Black fucked him with his enlarged penis, played again and again in Harry's mind. Draco... he thought, as his emotions welled up. Jealousy, protectiveness, anger, affection, need, desire... He thought about Black demanding to know if Draco loved him, and Draco answering yes.

No. When LeStrange had asked if he did it because he loved Black, Draco had not said yes. He said he had needed it.

What about you, Potter? Harry imagined it in Phineas Black's lecturing voice. Are you, indeed, in love with Mr. Malfoy? Answer quickly or I'll take another ten points from Slytherin.

The truth was, Harry wasn't sure he could say what love was nor what it felt like. And after what he had learned tonight, he felt fairly certain Draco wouldn't have a better answer. What he felt for Draco was strong, that was certain. Strong enough that now he was entertaining fantasies of bursting into Malfoy Manor, tearing up the marriage contract, and escaping with Draco in tow.

And LeStrange thought he was a romantic fool. 

"Don't tell me you're actually studying for Black's class."

Harry jumped at the voice, and there was Heather Whittington, leaning over the high back of his overstuffed chair. 

"Oh, um, the book is actually pretty fascinating," Harry said. "Though, actually, I'm reading it because I hoped it would put me to sleep."

"You're worrying about Draco." She sat in the chair next to Harry. "So am I."

"Why?" Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then put them back on and looked at her.

She sat with his elbows on her knees, her fingers interlaced and her hair pushed behind her ears. "I saw him earlier and he asked me to cast Ennervate on him."

Harry nodded.

"And I wondered why me, and not you." She was looking at her hands and not at Harry. 

Harry wondered how much she possibly knew. "He's a bit angry with me right now."

"I know. And I just wanted to say... I didn't mean to come between you. I mean, I really like you Harry. As if you couldn't tell..." She began to blush. "Okay, that night after Quidditch, maybe I was trying to get back at Draco a little, because of what happened between him and me and Reg. But I didn't think he would take it like that."

Oh. Whittington thought she was why Harry was in the doghouse. In light of all that was going on, Harry found that almost comical. He smiled. "It's okay, Heather." Harry realized when she looked up that he needed to say something more. "He was a little cheesed off that night when we came in after practice."

"I know. I saw his face."

"But he got over it. No, really. He's much more upset about something else." Harry told himself to shut up but it was too late, he'd already said it. "Speaking of which, you haven't heard from Regulus Black since he left Hogwarts, have you?"

She shook her head. "Not a word. I don't think he's written to Draco, either. Bloody strange." She peered at Harry through his glasses. "But what's Reg got to do with why Draco's angry at you?"

"Have you been talking to Hector, by any chance?"

"He wouldn't tell me a thing," she said, sounding a bit cheesed off herself. "Look, I know Draco and I have had our differences. But I don't like what's going on and I want to help."

Harry's ears perked up at that. "What do you think is going on?"

She looked around, then drew her wand and cast a spiraling, circular spell around them. "Freestanding Imperturbable," she said to his wondering look. "I'll teach it to you if you want. But anyway, Harry, don't you think it's obvious something is going on with him and LeStrange?"

Now Harry did chuckle. "You and I are the only ones who know about their... visits." There was no way he was going to explain it all to her, though. Just no way. "It's not what you think," he said. "Please trust me on this one, Heather. I'll... I'll take care of it."

"But he's angry at you."

"He thinks I tried to blind him with that glass in transfiguration." Now Harry was looking at his own hands. "I've been over it and over it. I thought Draco shattered it himself, because he was angry while trying to do the spell. But he seems adamant it wasn't him." He looked up at her. "Could I have done it accidentally? I shattered a window in Black's class not too long ago. Could it really be my fault?"

She put a hand on Harry's, just for a moment, and then sat back. "Were you sort of blinded by rage or exertion? Did you lose a moment of time?"

Harry thought about it. "No. I was mad, but I wasn't that bad. Not enough to lose control."

"Then quit blaming yourself. You're probably right and he did it himself without realizing it." She stood up then, and leaned over, planting a chaste kiss on Harry's scar. "Tell me when you want help, okay?"

"I... okay. Hey, Heather?" Harry called as she broke the circle of the spell. "I... I might be going back to Lithuania..."

"I thought it was Lichtenstein?"

"Right. Lichtenstein." He stood up. "I get those mixed up. I might be going back there soon."

"So I suppose a dance with you at the Halloween ball is right out," she said jokingly. 

He smiled. "I'm not sure when, but it might be soon. And I just wanted to say... thanks." He held out his hand, and she smiled but shook it, and then turned and headed for her room.

Harry watched her go, then gathered up his book and took the long walk to the end of the corridor and the room he and Draco shared. 

He took his time getting ready for bed, but eventually he had to climb in and face the fact that he still wasn't sleepy. 

The idea came to him as he turned down his covers. Why not? He left his own bed and climbed into Draco's, burying his face between Draco's down feather pillows. The scent of his lover's skin clung tenuously to the linens and Harry's blood began to rise in response. He'd been hard several times already that evening, though every time he had ignored it in favor of staying hidden or dealing with the situation. Now just a slight roll of his hips pressed his half-hard cock against the bedclothes and he moaned.

God, Draco, please come back to me soon, he thought as he slid his hand inside his pyjama bottoms. 

He rolled onto his back and wrapped his fingers around the curve of his cock, remembering what it felt like when Draco fisted him that first time. His lips parted as he thought about Draco kissing him. First, that not-kiss in the Common Room during Truth or Dare, the one that made the bottom drop out of Harry's stomach and his lips tingle for days afterward. Harry moaned quietly as he slid his foreskin up and down. And then flying, and the kiss by the lake, when he had kissed Draco, a serious kiss. He could almost hear Draco's voice in his ear: "You don't know what you've started, Potter."

You're right, I don't, Harry thought as his hand moved faster. I don't know what I've started, I just know I don't want it to end. 

He rolled onto his knees, hunching over his erection as he pulled on it, hugging one of Draco's pillows to him tightly with his left arm as he masturbated with the right. He wondered what it was like to fuck with an engorged penis, his lover taking every inch.

"Draco!" he said, through clenched teeth. "Draco!" And came in shuddering spurts into his hand, through his fingers, onto the sheets. 

Sleepiness came on him in waves then, and Harry was grateful for it. He collapsed face-forward into Draco's pillows and slept. He woke up some hours later, his hand still under him and now numb from lack of circulation, but he rolled over, clutching Draco's pillows to him, and slept the rest of the night through.


	17. Chapter 17

After breakfast in the Great Hall, Harry made a quick side trip down to the alcove just to see if anything had changed. The charmed quill was still hidden there behind the painting, and indeed as soon as he touched it, the quill in his bag began trying to leap out of its own accord. It went still once he had put the other quill back and backed out of the alcove.

Classes, lunch, and more classes were uneventful. Harry found his mind wandering and trying to refine the points of his and LeStrange's plan. Well, it wasn't so much a plan just yet, more a series of contingencies. The most important thing, he and LeStrange had agreed, was that Phineas Nigellus Black had to be stopped. Confronting him head on did not seem a wise course. Black would find a way to silence them both. Harry had a feeling a permanent obliviation wasn't beyond the headmaster's conscience. The fact that no one had heard from Regulus Black since his departure from Hogwarts caused Harry some concern. Draco's family could probably protect him, but who would know if Harry were shipped off to some sanatorium for deranged wizards?

Black was also unlikely to let either Harry or LeStrange run off to the Ministry to make a full report on him, and with his contacts he might well be able to head off or divert any investigation that might take place. But a Ministry official would be here tomorrow, to renew the geas on Harry. Was there a way to slip the official a bottle or two of memories suitable for viewing in a Pensieve? LeStrange was already procuring some bottles from Professor Gullwing for just such an operation.

Harry didn't want LeStrange to have to incriminate himself if he didn't have to, but he didn't see any way around it. Harry's own memories were not enough to convict Black, since it was Regulus Black he had actually seen. Only LeStrange had proof of the true depths of the headmaster's crimes in his mind.

Another thing they were unsure of was how the board of governors was likely to react. Would Draco's father be more interested in keeping the whole thing quiet and his son's reputation unsullied than in justice? Harry knew nothing of the current Malfoy patriarch but he could easily imagine it being so. They needed to be sure that the evidence presented was beyond reproach.

Harry assumed that he would be summoned to the headmaster's office to meet with the Ministry official as he had been before, but for the plan to work either he or LeStrange would need some time with the man without the headmaster present. They were still debating how to arrange that.

And as for telling Draco, Harry wanted nothing more than to be able to hand him Phineas Black's head on a proverbial platter, a fait accompli. Harry figured if he couldn't prove who had shattered the glass, at the very least bringing his lover's rapist to justice ought to count for some measure of forgiveness. He just hoped that they could deal with Black soon, very soon, because he didn't know how much more of cold, hateful Draco he could take.

At dinner time, it appeared Draco had not returned. He wasn't among the other seventh years, and Harry slid onto the bench next to Crabbe. Crabbe slapped him hard on the back, which was his way of telling Harry to cheer up. 

"Where's Frost?" Crabbe asked in his ear.

Harry glanced up and down the table, and shrugged.

"Up to no good that one is," Crabbe said and began tucking in to his roast and potatoes.

Whittington climbed onto the bench next to Harry. "How're you, Potter? You look a bit peaky."

"I'm fine," Harry said automatically. Crabbe pounded him on the back again and he nearly choked on a bite of carrot. 

None of the three of them said anything for the rest of the meal other than "pass the salt" and "have some pumpkin juice." But Harry was glad they were there. 

He was just toying with the cherry on top of the dessert he didn't feel like eating when a loud bang from the entrance hall caught his attention, as well as that of everyone at dinner. Harry rushed to the door, wand in hand, along with most of his classmates.

Facing each other on the rectangle of flagstones were Frost and Malfoy, wands out, about thirty paces apart. Malfoy's traveling hat was on the floor several feet behind him, smoking slightly. He shrugged out of his traveling cloak, undoing the clasp with one hand while keeping his wand trained on the other wizard.

"What's the meaning of this, Frost?" he said, kicking the cloak to the side to give his feet room to move. 

Frost's answer was a slashing motion with his wand and a jet of blue light, which Draco blocked easily. The ricochet hit the wall above the great doors and chips of stone rained down. He tried it again, this time Draco deflected the spell and shot back one of his own. Frost had dived to the side, but when he came up, it appeared one of his legs was petrified.

"This is for what you did to my sister!" Frost screamed, and slashed at Draco again. 

Draco's shield charm was simply too good, and Frost's hex bounced off him harmlessly once more. Harry felt himself pushed forward by the hundreds of students behind him, and he could hear, behind them, the staff trying to fight their way forward.

"In case you haven't heard, Timothy," Draco said, his voice as cold as Harry had ever heard it. "You and I are brothers-in-law."

"I know that! But you didn't have to...!" Frost did not get to finish his sentence as Draco hurled Expelliarmus, and Frost's wand went flying. As Draco advanced, Frost retreated, dragging his frozen leg toward where his wand lay against the wall. "I've always hated you!" Frost screamed. "I should have just killed you instead of shattering that stupid glass!"

Draco stopped advancing. "You shattered the glass?"

"Mirabille wouldn't marry you if you were maimed." Frost sounded very young and very terrified, but Harry found himself unable to muster much sympathy. 

Draco's eyes blazed with a cold, silver fire. He raised his wand.

"What are you going to do to me?" Frost clenched his teeth and pressed himself back against the wall.

"Nothing," Draco said, lowering his arm. "Nothing I can do will possibly make your life any worse." With that he looked up, seemingly aware of the throng pressing into the entrance hall for the first time. He smoothed his hair back and went to pick up his cloak.

Professor Gullwing was the first to the front. "What is going on h--" she began, but any other words were drowned out by the roar of surprise from the crowd as Timothy Frost picked up his wand and turned, his arm coming up as if to slash again.

He never got it above his waist as Harry threw a jet of red light and Frost collapsed to the stone. 

Everyone's eyes were now on Harry. His spell had been nonverbal, but it was clear whose wand the stunner had come from. 

Professor Gullwing turned to him. "Well done, Mr. Potter," she said. She bent down to check that Frost was still breathing, then picked up his wand. "Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, if you would be so kind as to levitate Mr. Frost, I think we are all headed for the headmaster's office." Then she pitched her voice louder. "The rest of you, back to your houses. There's nothing more to see here. Ah, Professor LeStrange, these three are all yours. Shall we?"

Harry had never been less comfortable inside the headmaster's office than he was this time, as he and Draco were made to stand in front of the fireplace while the headmaster sat at his desk and the other two professors across from him. Frost they slumped into a chair.

"Now," Black said, one fist resting on the wood on his desk, "Would you care to tell me what just occurred? Mr. Malfoy, you first."

Harry was amazed at the voice that came from Draco's mouth. Not a tremor or a stutter. But calm was not the right word for it. Cold. He was at his coldest. "Yes, headmaster. As you know, I had just Floo'ed here and was walking down to the dungeon from your office. As I stepped into the entrance hall, Frost attacked me without warning or provocation." He held up his hat, which was quite scorched. "As you can see, his aim was a bit off. He then repeatedly attacked me, while I defended myself with shield charms. I attempted to lock his legs, only partly succeeded, and then disarmed him. When I turned my back he attempted to attack me once more, and Mr. Potter stupefied him."

Black growled and turned to the two teachers. "Galatea, does that sound right to you?"

Gullwing steepled her fingers. "I did not see the beginning of the altercation, but of what I did see, yes, that sounds accurate."

"And you, Mr. Potter? You learned the stunning spell when?"

Harry stiffened under Black's sudden attention. "Er, Defense Against the Dark Arts, sir. In, you know."

Black's eyes narrowed. "And you, Gaius? What did you see?"

LeStrange shook his head. "I'm afraid all I saw was Mr. Frost attempting to hex Mr. Malfoy while his back was turned. And though I am no expert at dueling, I would say it was a fairly nasty hex, headmaster."

Gullwing held up Frost's wand. "It is simple enough to find out what he cast." She placed her own wand tip against Frost's and said "Priori incantati aliquotiens." The two wands glowed. At the first flash of light she said "He used Demeto!" She looked shocked. "And again, and a third time!" she said, as the wand flashed twice more. "And Saggito Flammare!"

"That would explain the hat," LeStrange said drily. 

Black turned to Draco. "So, Mr. Frost shot you with fire, and then tried to slash you to ribbons. And all you did was block him?"

Draco's demeanor was as placid as a statue. He drew his wand and handed it to Professor Gullwing. "Here you are, professor," he said graciously.

"Thank you," she said. She repeated the incantation, and again began to narrate. "Yes. levitation to bring Mr. Frost here. Before that, Locomotor Mortis. Protego. Protego. Protego. A cleaning charm..." She reddened suddenly and pulled the two wands apart. "Here you are," she said shortly, handing it back with a brisk snap of her wrist.

Draco accepted it, his face betraying nothing.

"And now perhaps we should hear Mr. Frost's side of the story." Black aimed his own wand at Frost's slumped body and said "Ennervate."

Frost stirred a bit but did not wake. 

"Mr. Potter, you're sure that was just a stunning spell you used?" Professor Gullwing held out her hand for his wand even as she said it.

"Yes, professor. Just plain Stupefy."

She touched their wands together briefly and then nodded. "He's telling the truth." She handed the wand to Harry. "If Mr. Frost cannot be revived at this time, I'd suggest he be taken to the hospital wing and dealt with on the morrow."

Each of the teachers tried the revival spell once more, to no avail. "Very well," Gullwing said. "I shall take him." She transfigured her chair into a stretcher, levitated Frost's limp form onto it, and left with a cursory good night to LeStrange and the headmaster.

Black turned to LeStrange. "Unauthorized dueling is a punishable offense."

"With all due respect, headmaster, this could hardly be called dueling. Malfoy here was attacked and merely defended himself, while Potter acted out of a sense of fairness and to protect a fellow student." LeStrange crossed his legs with forced casualness. 

"Nonetheless, we will have bedlam if an example is not made of them." Phineas Nigellus Black stood. 

"All three were from my house," LeStrange said. "I should like to deal with it internally."

"And the spectacle was witnessed by the entire student body," the headmaster countered. "Which makes them mine to deal with." He punctuated his sentence with a fist on his desk. 

"What will their punishment be, then?" LeStrange asked, still trying to sound disinterested. "I gave Frost thirty lashes for tampering with the door spell."

"You surprise me, Gaius," Black said then. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"Yes, well, the ability to perform violence is inherent in us all," LeStrange said. "As our Mr. Frost proved with his attack tonight." Harry could hear the regret in LeStrange's voice, like he thought if he hadn't flogged Frost, Frost wouldn't have attacked Draco.

The headmaster picked up his tin of Floo powder, and Harry stole a glance at Draco's face. The wall of ice cracked a bit, as he saw fear flare in Draco's eyes. "Well, Gaius, I think you had best go and address your house. Tell them I will not put up with any shenanigans of this type. Ever. I will deal with these two personally and severely, while anyone else caught attacking a fellow student will be expelled."

Draco glanced back at Harry, his head shaking almost imperceptibly in a no. His eyes then went to LeStrange, beseeching.

LeStrange stood. "You know perfectly well that it is Frost who is at fault here."

"And I intend to expel him the moment he regains consciousness." Black's eyes smoldered. "Now the discipline of these two is in my hands, professor. Good night to you."

Panic spread over Draco's face. Harry wanted to reach out, to tell him it would be all right, but he couldn't very well do that in front of Black. But he could tell, Draco was about to do something, to run or to fight. 

LeStrange cleared his throat. "Actually, headmaster, I was wondering if I might be of some assistance."

Black looked over his shoulder from the hearth. "What sort of assistance?"

"Oh, whatever you need. I just thought with two of them you might need an extra pair of hands."

For a moment a look flashed across Black's face--a smirk, or perhaps a leer--but then it was gone, replaced with his usual severe frown. "Why Gaius, if I didn't know you better I'd think perhaps you were worried I might harm your charges. Or are you finally getting a taste for discipline?"

LeStrange did not answer. "If you would, headmaster," he said, gesturing toward the fire.

"I'm sorry, Gaius, but I work alone." Phineas Nigellus Black gestured toward the door.

"Very well. But I shall expect to see them both at breakfast, willing and able to complete their coursework."

"Yes, yes, Gaius, their education is foremost in my mind." Black huffed.

Harry tugged on Draco's sleeve where Black could not see, and suddenly Harry felt Draco's fingers in his, squeezing tight with fear. Harry squeezed back, trying to reassure him. He didn't know why Draco had suddenly turned fearful. He didn't relish the thought of a night in the dungeon with the headmaster, either, but surely they would get through it. He would have felt better to have LeStrange there, because it would have been someone watching their backs, but they would have to do without him.

The door closed on LeStrange's back, and Black turned to the two young men. "If you would place your wands on my desk, please."

Harry did, slowly, as if a sudden movement might set off a hex. Draco did the same, his eyes shut, his hand shaking as he forced himself to let go of the carven ash.

The Room of Correction was as Harry remembered it--pitch black. As before, Black made them go first through the Floo and then he followed, meaning that they had three, perhaps four seconds alone before the headmaster appeared. And it was in that brief interval of time that Harry heard Draco's voice.

"Harry, Reg is dead. I think Black killed him. I found out..."

But then the whoosh of the headmaster coming through precluded all other talk. The torches flickered to life, and Black stalked slowly around them in a circle. "Well, now, Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy. You do both realize that I should have expelled the two of you as well. Drawing a wand on a fellow student simply cannot be allowed. It is only because of the... extenuating circumstances that I have decided to handle this matter in my own way."

He gave a wave of his wand and a thick chain with a hook on it came down from the ceiling with a loud clanking noise. "If you would both be so kind as to speed this process along by stripping down to your skin, please."

They exchanged looks, while Black busied himself across the room at a high rack of implements. Harry tried to read Draco's mind, but not only was Harry's mind too awhirl to concentrate properly, Draco was Occluding exceptionally well. Harry supposed that made sense--if Black had any inkling that Draco knew, the consequences could be dire. Harry took a deep breath, determined to close his mind to any potential intrusion as well. So long as Black had no reason to suspect they knew anything particular about him, they were safe.

Well, perhaps safe was not the right word. But Harry didn't think they should fear for their lives, not unless Draco let something slip. LeStrange was expecting them in the morning. They just had to get through to tomorrow, and Black would be undone.

Though of course, Draco didn't know that. Draco still didn't know that Harry had been there, had seen what had happened in LeStrange's room. He was moving like a man going to his own execution, Harry thought. He slowly and deliberately folded his clothes into a neat, square pile, the robe on the bottom, the tie on top. Harry attempted to fold his as well, with messier results. It would have been funny if the situation hadn't been so serious.

And it would have been arousing, as well. Harry looked away from Draco's golden body, glowing in the torch light, suppressing the thought that it might never again be the way it was, when he could just slide into bed whenever he wished and touch that golden skin all over. He didn't know how what had happened would change Draco, would change the way they felt about each other. He pressed his hands against his bare stomach, trying to will the apprehension he felt away.

There was another feeling welling up, though, a surge of wild hope, brought on by the simple fact that Draco had called him Harry. Had spoken, for a few brief seconds, as if the estrangement of recent days were a thing of the past. Harry hung onto that feeling when he saw the mask of coldness descend over Draco's face and the hint of a sneer begin to appear.

"Headmaster, I'm ready," Draco said, his voice flat.

"It's been a while since you've been to the Room of Correction, hasn't it, Mr. Malfoy? Your hands, please." Black approached him and tapped the back of his hands with his wand. Snakelike cords flew from the tip, wrapping themselves around his wrists, binding them together with perhaps eight inches of slack between. "Now you, Mr. Potter."

Harry stepped up next to Draco and held out his wrists, expecting to receive the same binding. Draco glared at him.

Black raised an eyebrow. "I understand that the two of you have not been getting along of late."

Neither of them answered. 

"Fickle youth," Black pronounced. "Step back a moment, Mr. Potter."

Harry did as he was bid, and Black spelled Draco's hands over his head, then levitated him upward and to the center of the room where the chain hung. One flick of the wrist and Draco's bonds draped themselves over the hook, and Draco was dangling, his toes just touching the floor. Black flicked his wand again and the chain dropped an inch or two but no more. Draco could push up on tiptoe, but he could not put his heels on the floor.

Harry was so transfixed by the sight that he did not notice Black sidle up to him. "Mr. Potter, if you would." Harry looked and Black was handing him a piece of ebony wood, perhaps ten inches long, carved with runes and a pattern of snake scales. It fitted comfortably into his hand and he wondered if it were charmed to do so.

"Sir?" he asked, unclear on what Black was asking of him.

"Like this," Black said, demonstrating a quick wrist flick with his wand. He then held up a hand, indicating Harry should wait, went to Draco and rotated him until his bare back faced Harry. Black stepped back. "You may proceed."

Harry swallowed, unsure what was going to happen when he flicked his wrist, but quite sure he did not want Draco to be the target. 

"Go on, Potter," came Draco's voice, harsh and biting. "You've been dying to have a crack at me, haven't you?"

That brought out a chuckle from Black and Harry took a deep breath. He raised the wooden dowel, then brought his arm down with a snap of his hand. A tail of silver light shot from the end, uncurled toward Draco almost in slow motion, and then lashed him across the back with a shower of sparks. Harry almost dropped the handle in surprise.

Draco hissed through his teeth.

"Impressive, Mr. Potter. So much raw power. I don't think Mr. Malfoy has ever felt it quite like that." Black's eyes glittered. "Nine more, if you please, and watch your aim."

Harry could now see the welt coming up where the magical whip had struck the first time, the slash running from the top of Draco's right shoulder down across to the bottom of his left shoulder blade. Harry tried to aim the next blow a little lower, but he didn't really know how the thing worked. Out went the silver tail, arcing toward Draco's hanging form, and then again the explosion of sparks.

And this time, a cry, a small one, from Draco's throat. "Ah!"

Harry waited until the welt came up. Apparently in his attempt to put the next one lower, he had tagged Draco right in the ribs. 

The next one went more or less where the first one had gone, and Draco shook the chain a bit, but didn't scream. The fourth clawed the meaty part of Draco's buttocks, leaving a livid streak. Harry's hand was sweating around the wood and he realized his forehead was sweating as well, the heat prickling suddenly when, on the fifth stroke, Draco screamed and followed the scream with "For fuck's sake, Potter!"

Nailed him in the ribs again. "S-sorry," he said, then glanced at Black, quite sure that apologies would be frowned upon. 

But Black looked gleeful. "Five more, Mr. Potter. And pick up the pace, if you would."

Harry's throat felt dry. What would happen if he shortened his stroke? He tried pointing more directly at Draco's back, but the result was that a wave rolled down the long silver line, cracking loudly and suddenly at the end. 

Draco's scream was ragged and he swung slightly from the chain. 

No more experimenting, Harry told himself. And he went back to the slashing motion he had used before. But something had broken loose in Draco, and now he screamed on every blow. Seven, eight, nine. Draco's chest was heaving now, his head hanging, and there was very little unreddened skin on his back anywhere.

"One more," Harry said, as much to himself as to Draco.

He drew back his arm and let fly, another long slash, and Draco kicked and gurgled as though he had choked on his cry. Harry realized that he was breathing just as hard as Draco was, and that his arm was trembling.

"An excellent start, Mr. Potter. Now, another set of ten."

Harry shot a look at Black, he couldn't help it, his sense of betrayal sharp and sudden. But Black had not made any promises, had never said it would be only ten. 

But Harry found he couldn't make his arm move. He stared at Draco, at the welts crisscrossing, bruises starting to come up where the magic had lashes particularly hard. How soon until he cut right through the skin?

"I can't."

"Yes, you can." Draco's voice. Firm. Resolute.

"No..."

"Potter, please, spare me the waiting and get on with it." Irked. Cajoling.

"But I..."

"Harry!" Urgent. Pleading.

Harry was afraid to look up at Black to see what he thought of that exchange. The last time someone had asked him to force them to suffer, the results had been less than good. And Draco was telling him it was bearable. Maybe what came next wouldn't be. Harry raised his arm and aimed for Draco's buttocks. At least he was better padded there.

One, two, three strokes, the sparks growing brighter with each successive blow, until Harry had to look away after each one, four, five, six, because he was being blinded. And through it all, Black chuckled and looked on. 

Harry forgot his vow not to experiment and tried a few strokes backhanded, so that at least the lashes would come from the opposite direction. Seven, eight, nine, and he wasn't really sure if it was only Draco screaming or if he was screaming with rage on each blow, as well. 

On ten, he overthrew, the snake of silver pain whipped out, wrapped itself around Draco's middle, and then snapped back, spinning Draco from the chain and leaving a dark red stripe horizontal around him. Harry ran to him without thinking, stopping him from swinging and then leaning his forehead against Draco's shoulder blades. 

He was crying. Tears were running down his cheeks and mingling with the sweat on Draco's reddened back. Unlike with the poison in the cave that Dumbledore had drunk, Harry had no way of knowing how close to the end of the hateful task he was. 

"Mr. Potter, would you say he's had enough?"

Harry's throat convulsed and he found it difficult to form words. But he took a step back from Draco and said, "Yes, enough."

Black was clucking his tongue. "You don't know him very well, then, do you Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy has a much higher tolerance than you, it would appear." He stepped close. "Mr. Frost received thirty lashes just the other night. Surely, you don't think I should let Mr. Malfoy off with any fewer?"

Harry couldn't answer. Of course this wasn't the end. The end would always come somewhere after the end of his endurance. After he couldn't go on.

Or Draco couldn't.

"Another ten, if you please," Black said, waving an open palm at Draco's skin.

Harry still had the magical whip in his hand. He let it fall, then followed it to the floor himself. "I can't. I can't do it anymore." 

Black's growl was low. "Powerful, yes, powerful but soft." He bent over, pulled Harry's hands toward him and bound them as he had Draco's. Harry felt himself jerked off the stone floor by a magical pull, and then up and over the hook went his bonds. 

Putting him face to face with Draco, his feet dangling a few inches off the floor because Draco's legs were longer. 

Draco's eyes were shut, but he moved his cheek ever so slightly, to lean against Harry's, and Harry sighed silently. It was his last moment of peace for quite some time.


	18. Chapter 18

Harry was having a dream, a dream about Sirius in his dog form. They were playing around on the grass by the lake, and Sirius kept hopping up and licking him on the face. 

Harry came to suddenly--someone was licking his face. And nibbling his lips. 

Draco!

Harry kissed back with all his might as the awareness of the pain in his shoulders, the pain in his back, and who it was bound here with him came flooding back. They were in pitch darkness, but he had no doubts whose body was pressed against his.

He broke the kiss somewhat reluctantly. "Where's Black?"

"Gone. He whipped until his arm got tired. Now he's letting us stew, I suppose." Draco's breath tickled his ear as he spoke. "You've been out for... a while." He sounded quite relieved. 

The sense-memory of being beaten bloody ghosted across Harry's back and shoulders. He ignored it. "Have you tried to light the torches again?"

"Incendio didn't work, but I can't tell if that's because they're spelled differently or if it's just that I'm too exhausted to make it work wandless."

"We can't just hang here like this all night." Harry tried to remember what was where in the room. The chain with the hook would be right over their heads. If he flexed his fingers he could feel the hook. 

"Do you think you can levitate off of it?"

Harry shook his head. "There's a simpler way. Stand on your toes." He wrapped his legs around Draco's torso--both of them hissing and wincing as their various cuts and welts rubbed raw--then hitched himself up until he could lift the cords over the tip of the hook. He paused to feel his face--his glasses were not there. Not that he needed them at the moment since it was too dark to see anything at all. He put his hands on Draco's shoulders and let go with his legs, dropping to the floor. He stumbled a bit, twisting one ankle, but not seriously. "Now, you," he said, wrapping his arms around Draco's thighs, and lifting him.

Draco fumbled at the cords, his hands a bit numb, but managed to slide them off the hook, and then slide down into Harry's embrace.

Harry held him tight. "Please tell me you aren't angry with me."

He felt Draco stiffen in his arms, but he was startled, not angry. "I would much rather be whipped by you than by Black, any day, Harry."

"No, I mean, about before." Frost. The glass. Using you.

The bones seemed to go out of Draco and Harry lowered him slowly to the stone. Draco held on, wrists still bound and his arms around Harry's neck, and he shook with the effort of not crying. "I should be asking you to forgive me," he said, when he could. "I can't believe I let Frost play me for a fool that way."

"You were upset about Mirabille," Harry said, planting a kiss on Draco's forehead. "And you'd been cheated on before. It's okay, Draco."

"It's not okay," Draco said, pressing his forehead against Harry's breastbone. "A lot of things are definitely not okay."

Harry, though, felt better than he had in days. He was naked, bleeding, bruised, and imprisoned in a dark dungeon, but the very fact that Draco was there, and that he was Harry's Draco, made up for everything. "We'll deal with things, one at a time." He wished for either a wand or at least a light. "I have some things to tell you."

"Likewise," Draco said. "Do you suppose it's safe to talk here?"

"Heather taught me a free-standing Imperturbable, but I have no idea if it will work wandless."

"Try it anyway."

Harry disentangled his arms, which wasn't easy given that he and Draco were both still bound around the wrists and he had to get them over Draco's head to undo their embrace. He held his left hand still and moved his right as if he had his wand in it while intoning "Pyramidus inturbidus. Okay, you first. Why do you think Reg Black is dead?"

Draco was silent a moment. "You know my father is very well-connected. He doesn't know about Reg and me. Thinks Reg was just a good friend. Well, I had asked him to try to look into the matter, this whole sanatorium thing, to make sure he's well. He's been trying to find him for weeks, and he's nowhere to be found."

"That doesn't mean he's dead."

"I know. But, hmm, let's see, maybe instead he's imprisoned with no hope of escape, or maybe permanently obliviated and living like a Squib in Sussex." Draco's voice turned cold. "I think I prefer the thought that he's dead." 

"God. And I thought you were just exaggerating when you said Black would kill him." Harry found Draco's chin with one hand, and tipped his face until their lips met. A soft kiss, eating at Draco's mouth gently, as if he had been ravaged enough by the day's events.

"What was that for?" Draco said, a bit breathless. 

"When your voice goes cold like that. I want to warm it up." Harry knew it sounded foolish to say, but it was true. He wished he could tell if Draco were smiling or not. "Anyway, my turn. So, um, I followed you when you went to see LeStrange yesterday and I found out why your memory has been so spotty... among other things."

Draco found one of Harry's hands and squeezed. "I can tell by your voice that it's not good."

Harry shivered a little just thinking about what he had seen and learned. "Um, it's complicated. And yeah, it's bad." Now that he thought about it, he wasn't even sure where to start or what to say. "It might be easier if you just read my mind."

Draco leaned against him. "I don't think I can. Wandless..."

"You can. I'll help." He shifted so that he could take Draco's head in his hands, and moving slowly, he brought their mouths together. It was another soft kiss at first, just lips against lips, but then Draco's tongue darted out and Harry's breath hitched. Yes. Draco opened him more hungrily now, tongue searching, and he pressed Harry back against the stone. Harry ignored the feeling of the rough stone against his ravaged skin and concentrated on letting Draco in. There. Harry forgot to breathe as he let Draco's need overtake him, let the feeling of Draco's chest on his cue him when to draw breath.

He only became aware of the fact that he was hard and straining when there came a moment in the memories when he felt the same, ashamed to be aroused by what he was seeing, and yet Draco, how could he not respond to the sounds Draco made, to the sight of him being taken? Draco shuddered on top of him, whether because his body, too, was responding, or because he was shaking in disgust, Harry could not tell.

Draco choked on a wail as the conversation with LeStrange poured out of Harry's memory, then went limp almost as if he had come. Maybe he had. Harry's own erection faded as quickly as the memory did and he was grateful for that. He stroked Draco's hair, the one part of him he was fairly sure wouldn't hurt. After a while, they sat up again, Draco crossing his ankles and resting his forehead on his knees, while Harry curled carefully against his back, his bound hands snug against Draco's buttocks and his legs one to either side. 

Draco cursed quietly. "I was starting to suspect. I think I started to suspect a while ago. That's why LeStrange used stronger and stronger memory charms, to erase my memory of the suspicion." He hugged his knees. "When I heard that Reg had disappeared so completely, I knew something like this must be happening. Give me your hand, I can't find it."

Harry put a hand on Draco's shoulder, the other on his back, and Draco held it and rubbed his cheek against it. "Thank Merlin for you, Harry Potter." He sighed. "So do you want to know why Frost attacked me?"

"I thought he was trying to ruin you for his sister."

"Not with the glass. Today. In the entrance hall."

Harry had a vague memory of Frost shouting. "He was accusing you of something."

Draco nodded. "I'm a little afraid to tell you what I did."

"Don't be." Harry kissed the back of Draco's neck.

"I had sex with Mirabille Frost."

"Oh."

They sat in silence a moment before Draco let out one short laugh. "Just 'oh?'" He rubbed his face against Harry's hand again. "No, I didn't force her, if that's what you're thinking, though Frost sees it as my doing, no doubt."

"Oh, well, that's good."

"Now your voice is cold." Draco turned and pulled Harry into a kiss. "Not only did I not force her, I had to force myself. Do you want to know how I managed it?"

"Magic?" Harry guessed.

"Thinking about you, you prat." Draco pressed his forehead to Harry's. "I was such an idiot to hurt you. To be jealous and then to be stupid..." Harry silenced him with a kiss, but it was a temporary measure. "And then to be there in the Manor, with everyone in their best robes and Mirabille looking like a china doll, and the signing of the contract with ritual ink and all that... and all I could think about was how I would rather be on the floor of the dungeon with you."

"You are on the dungeon floor with me."

"Well, I meant in our room." Draco threaded his fingers into Harry's hair, the loose cords between his hands hanging in Harry's eyes but he didn't mind it. "I got through the afternoon by imagining an elaborate scenario where it wasn't Mirabille signing the contract. It was you."

Harry's heart leapt out of his chest and into his throat. "You know, in my time, wizards who like wizards aren't treated like... that is... it wouldn't have to be a secret."

Harry thought he could hear Draco biting his lip. "But I was still angry with you, and jealous. I thought surely with me gone you'd be in bed with either Anisette or Heather in a snap."

"So you slept with Mirabille for revenge?"

"I guess. I know it doesn't make a lot of sense. I wanted to know, if you could, could I? And could I even go through with it with her at all? And I'd spent the day pretending she was you, anyway." Draco relaxed a bit as Harry scooted closer. "And on top of that, she, well, she made the first move, actually."

"Crabbe told me she always had a thing for you."

"And the bossy bitch figured why wait? The wedding ceremony we'll have later is just a formality, anyway." Draco shook his head. "Fuck, Harry. I'm married."

"Do you love her?"

"No."

"Do you want to stay with her?"

"No."

"Then why don't you come forward in time with me? I'm not going to be here forever. I know I'm not." Harry squeezed Draco's hands in his. "I'm serious," he said, feeling very Gryffindor at the moment. Bold, impetuous, virtuous. "Come with me so I can always be there for you."

Draco was silent and Harry wished he could see his face. "How do you know you're going back?"

"There's a prophecy. Oh god, maybe I ought to tell you about that before you decide whether to come with me or not." The enormity of what Draco did not know about Harry hit him in the stomach like a kick and he pulled away.

Draco turned and reached for him. "I take it you broke the geas."

"They told me it wears off after a while and someone from the Ministry is supposed to come tomorrow to renew it. I... I'm sorry," he stammered, feeling his face flush though Draco couldn't see it. 

"Sorry about what?"

"Here I am asking you to... run away with me, and you actually don't know anything about me. Anything at all." Harry's heart hammered against his ribs. 

"I know you Harry, and isn't that what matters the most?" It was Draco's turn to wrap his arms around Harry. He lifted the cords over Harry's head and pulled him tight. "Or are you going to tell me you're married, too?"

Harry snorted out a laugh. "God, where to start. Okay, I guess at the beginning. My parents met at Hogwarts in seventies, and then I was born in 1980. At the time there was this very powerful dark wizard taking over everything and they were fighting him. Um, the story is going to get very complicated very fast."

"Do I look like I have somewhere else to be?"

"Right." Harry leaned his head against Draco's shoulder. It was the first time in his life that he'd ever had to tell the story of who he was to someone. He'd grown up not knowing it himself, but every Wizard and Witch in Britain knew the tale of the Boy Who Lived. "Well, anyway, there was this prophecy that basically said I was going to either kill the Dark Lord or be killed by him. He came and tried to kill me when I was a baby, and he did kill my parents. But because my mother died to save me, I was protected, I didn't die, and Voldemort actually got zapped by his own curse."

"So he's dead?"

"Unfortunately, no. He was still alive, though just barely. It turned out he had broken off pieces of his soul and hidden them here and there, so even though the avada kedavra bounced back on him, he couldn't die. And it's my job now to find all the pieces of him and kill him off once and for all."

They were both silent and Harry rubbed his cheek against Draco's shoulder. "There are two other things you ought to know," he said. 

"Go on," Draco said, combing the hair on the back of Harry's head with one hand. 

"The first is that my mother was Muggleborn."

"I knew that already, remember? The whole business with Frost's hex on the door, remember?"

"I... okay. Your memory was pretty spotty from that night so I wanted to make sure..."

Draco tugged on Harry's hair. "Harry. Why does it matter?"

"Just, you're from an old pureblood family, and..."

"And you think we're all like the Frosts."

Harry tried to think of a way to explain it. "Actually, in my day, the Malfoys are a lot like the Frosts in that regard. And so is Voldemort. He's all about getting people to hate Muggles and Muggleborns."

"I'd like to think that the Malfoys are a little more sophisticated than the Frosts."

Harry suddenly seized Draco's wrist. "I just had a terrible thought."

"What?"

"Mirabille Frost is a Malfoy now. Maybe that's how your ... descendants get turned into such ... jerks." He sagged in Draco's arms. "And that makes me realize that I can't take you with me. Not if you're supposed to father an heir."

Draco sagged, too, though not so much that he could not muster a little black humor. "I suppose that means that Phineas Black doesn't kill us both in the morning, then. What was the second thing you wanted to tell me?"

Harry's train of thought had been so thoroughly derailed by the realization that he would have to leave Draco behind that he had forgotten the second thing. "Oh, it was just that... you remember I told you there's a Draco Malfoy in my time?"

"I remember."

"Well, he and I are enemies. Have been since we arrived at Hogwarts. He's on the dark side, and a lot of people wouldn't hesitate to hex you on sight, thinking you were him." The hope that had flared in Harry's heart sputtered. "And there's no guarantee I'll survive the confrontation with Voldemort." And once again Harry found himself crying against Draco's skin, shaking with misery.

Draco held him, and held him, and spoke quietly when the sobs had subsided enough that he could be heard. "I'd go with you, you know. I'd go and fight your Dark Lord with you. I'd do anything to be there for you, Harry."

That seemed to rouse Harry a bit, and they kissed again, holding one another in the dark, no urgency now, no desire but to be together.

When they broke apart, Harry said "One evil at a time. LeStrange is going to hand over a bunch of his memories to the Ministry official when he comes. Or, he's going to try to. He's supposed to be bottling them right now. We've got to make sure Black goes down for what he did to you."

"Speaking of which," Draco said. "We're both going to have to be 100% Occluded when he comes back. After all you've told me..." He puffed his cheeks. "Merlin and Morgana, Harry."

"Do you suppose we ought to put ourselves back on the hook? I might be up to levitating us both now." Harry stood up. "That is supposing I can find it in the dark."

"We haven't moved far from it. If you can lift me a little, I can feel around for it."

"I think I better do that the Muggle way." Harry felt for Draco, slid his bound arms over his head, then down to his thighs and lifted him. 

"I got it." The chains rattled softly overhead. "All right, let me down."

Harry lowered Draco until his toes touched the floor again. Then he slid the ropes out under Draco's feet, making him sway slightly and drawing a noise of protest from Draco. Harry steadied him them with his hands on his belly, hooked one leg over one of Draco's hips, and then levitated himself partway up. He hooked his other leg around, reached over his head and slid the bonds into place, letting himself drop as slowly as a feather.

Draco groaned and Harry felt Draco's cock, now hard, slide between his legs as he brought his feet down. "Harry..."

All it took was that tone of voice, that plangent need, and Harry felt his own erection begin to rise against Draco's stomach. He clenched his legs tightly together and gripped Draco's cock, arching his back and then rolling his hips so that he tugged on it. Draco moaned, matching the thrust of his own hips to Harry's.

Draco threw his head back. "Merlin, that feels good. I don't know if I can come this way, but..."

"Let's try," Harry said. Draco wasn't the only one with a sense of black humor. "If the headmaster offs us in the morning, this could be the last time."

"And I thought I was the twisted one," Draco said, before nuzzling for Harry's lips and kissing him, still thrusting into the crook between Harry's legs and balls. Harry squeezed his legs together even more and Draco moaned. They kept that up for several minutes, until they were both slick with sweat, both achingly hard and straining for enough purchase, enough sensation. 

"Here," Harry said, mustering the levitation spell again, floating upwards until his hands came free.

"Where are you going?"

"Down," Harry said, letting his hands trail down Draco's torso to his cock. Then gripping him by one hip--the bonds were not long enough to let him grab both sides--he ran his lips over the weeping tip of Draco's penis. He licked his lips and tasted salt, then ran his tongue over the slit hungrily.

Draco quivered as he dangled from the chain, his feet no longer holding him up. 

Harry gentled Draco's balls with his fingers, soothing as he tongued the whole crown, then taking the head into his mouth. He floated lower, taking more of Draco in, tugging at Draco's hip to urge him deeper.

Harry sucked Draco that way for long minutes, losing himself so completely in the taste and sensation of his lover in his mouth that he forgot about the dungeon and Black and just about everything else except for the part of his mind that kept him in the air. A long, languid suck, without urgency, until Draco began to buck and jerk and the rattle of the chain brought Harry back to the present. When he pulled back from Draco, he left his prick dripping.

Draco's word of protest died in his throat as he felt Harry hook his legs around Draco's hips again. Leaning back as if he could recline on air, which he actually was as he levitated, Harry wriggled until Draco's cock was planted firmly between his asscheeks.

"Are you sure you can do it?" Draco asked, hoarse.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Harry said, and he pulled Draco closer by degrees with his heels, until he pulled Draco right through the ring of resistance at Harry's opening, until he pulled him all the way in and Draco uttered a pleased-sounding curse.

Now that he was sheathed, Harry could right himself a bit, gripping Draco's face with his hands and kissing him deeply. The kiss felt to Harry like it sent a throb down inside him, down where Draco was lodged so deeply, and the lower half of him tightened. He flexed his legs, canting his body upward and milking Draco's cock toward the tip, then he pulled with his heels again, sinking Draco deep again. 

"Oh," Draco said. "Oh my."

Harry grinned in the dark and did it again. Each time Draco sank home, Harry felt like sparks flew from his navel all through his body. The feeling intensified as he combined the lift with his legs with an extra touch of levitation, until as he fucked Draco faster and faster he could no longer tell where the sensation of flying, the sensation of penetration, and the sensation of his own cock rubbing against Draco's sweat slicked stomach were separated. 

His orgasm came, it felt to him, as a surprise. One moment he was climbing the mountain, and the next he was falling, hot spurts against his chest and Draco's belly, and the spell slipped for a moment, but impaled as he was on Draco he didn't go far, in fact as he squeezed his legs to hang on he pulsed internally as well, and Draco let go with a cry. Harry held on as Draco kicked his feet a little, up on his tiptoes trying to drive as deeply into Harry as possible, and Harry helping with both the spell and his legs.

Harry didn't wait for his breathing to slow before locking his lips onto Draco's once again. "I will never get enough of your mouth," he breathed at Draco. "It's because you teased me, that first time."

"When?"

"In 'Truth or Dare.'" Harry kissed him again.

"That was forever ago," Draco said. "Wasn't it?"

In actuality it had been less than two months, but Harry didn't argue. He hitched himself up, draped his hands over the hook again, and then relaxed back into dangling. "Please tell me you can do a cleaning charm wandless," he said, as he began to wonder just what Phineas Black might do or say to find them hanging there covered in spunk.

He felt Draco's cheek move against his as he smiled. "I know I can do myself. I'm not so sure about you, but I'll try."

A few moments later, Harry felt his skin tingle. Without light there was no way to check how thorough the job was, but he felt better. "Thanks. Now I'm going to try to lift some of the pressure off your arms." He wasn't really sure it would work. Levitating himself was sort of like Apparating. He could concentrate on his body, his sense of self, and use that to extend his magic through himself. To extend it to Draco...

Was not as difficult as he'd thought it would be. Perhaps, given their proximity and what intimacies they had just shared helped. It was easy to think of Draco as a part of himself, and soon they were both weightless with their cheeks pressed together.

"Harry," Draco whispered. "I feel like I'm lying on a huge featherbed, so soft I can hardly feel a thing." He yawned.

"Good," Harry replied. "Sleep, if you can." And as if Harry's words were an incantation, Draco did.


	19. Chapter 19

Harry did not sleep, but began maintaining the spell almost as part of his breathing. His concentration and awareness expanded as he passed into a meditative state, thinking about nothing more than the magic inside him flowing and ebbing with his breath. 

In his trance state he had no idea how much time passed, but Draco eventually woke. "Is it morning yet?" he asked.

"No idea," Harry said. "Too bad the waking charm in our room can't reach here."

Draco nodded in response. "Have I been asleep long?"

"Not sure. A few hours at most." Harry rubbed his cheek on Draco's. "Go back to sleep if you want to."

"You've been holding us up all this time?"

Harry nodded. "It's easy if I feel centered and... happy." Which is how I feel with you, he thought, but did not say. He wouldn't allow himself to think about leaving Draco behind...

Though there were a few things in the back of his mind that percolated to the front. "Were you serious when you told me you didn't like... your nickname?"

He felt Draco sag. "I really do hate it. But I'm sorry I was such an a..."

"Shut it. I would have been just as angry and probably worse if I'd been you," Harry said half-joking.

Draco's voice, though, was low and serious. "You don't know what I'm really capable of."

"Pardon me," Harry said, "But I think I do. And I wasn't exactly polite to you, either." He shivered slightly and the spell slipped enough that he felt a tug on the cords around his wrists. "God, when I saw you, in the entrance hall, coming back from the infirmary... I just couldn't believe it was you." Harry felt a sense of shame at the memory. "You looked so bitter, so angry, and with your eyes and hair changed, I was convinced that you were my enemy, come from the future to kill me."

"And you were going to hex me right into the next county."

"I was."

"Except that I didn't have a wand. You really are a bloody Gryffindor at heart, aren't you?"

"I guess..."

But the sound of the Floo flaring cut off any further conversation. Harry swiveled his head expecting to see Phineas Black.

But it was Gaius LeStrange who came spinning out of the Floo, the torches lighting as he did and showing him to be a horrible mess, a sleeve torn and bleeding from a gash over one eye. He stumbled and fell, but from his outstretched hand clattered two slender pieces of wood.

"Accio wand!" Harry cried, and his wand flew to his hand. In another moment he and Draco were on the floor, Draco summoned his wand as well, and Harry rushed for the tin of Floo powder even as the hearth flared again. 

"Stupefy!" Harry cried, before the figure in the flames could even step out. His stunner went flying, blocked by a Shield Charm.

But Draco's did not. Phineas Black staggered, fell, and Draco cried "Come on!" He grabbed at LeStrange who seemed unable to regain his feet. 

Harry took the professor by the other arm and grabbed a large handful of Floo powder. "Can we Floo together?"

"Yes, but where?"

Black groaned and regained his feet. 

Harry tossed the powder down. "Arithmancy Classroom!" he cried, hoping that the Floo would take them there instead of directly back to Black's office, which would probably be nothing more than a trap.

Choking on soot and struggling to keep hold of the unconscious LeStrange, they stumbled out of the hearth and into an empty classroom. "Thank goodness," Harry said, rushing for the door. "Come on!"

"Where are we going?"

"We're on the seventh floor, aren't we?"

"Yes, but..."

"Just hurry!" Harry finally thought to cast a Levitation Charm on LeStrange and the two of them yanked his floating body out the door and down the hallway. They took two more turns and then Harry thought this had better work.

He walked three times back and forth in the same spot, while Draco looked on in puzzlement, thinking I need a place where I am safe from Phineas Black. I need a place where I am safe from Phineas Black. I need a place where I am safe from Phineas Black.

A door shimmered into existence and Draco swore. "How did you do that?"

"I'll tell you once we're inside." He opened the door and they pulled LeStrange in, then shut the door behind them. The door had a huge bolt latch--Harry had definitely never seen that before--and he bolted the door with a satisfying thunk.

They were in what looked like a classroom, but without desks and without windows. Hundreds of candles in wall sconces and in chandeliers overhead made it warm and bright. In the center of the room was a round woven rug, on which sat a small round wooden table, and upon which was a scarlet envelope with gold letters on it.

"This is the Room of Requirement," Harry said, waving his hand vaguely. "It sort of provides whatever one needs, well, up to a point."

"I could use some robes about now," Draco pointed out, "And I think the professor here could use a lie down and a Clotting Draught." 

Harry looked around. "Put him on that cot right there. You'll probably find some potions in the cabinet next to it. I'll look in the wardrobe over here."

He pulled open the double doors of the wardrobe to find it divided in half, each side stocked with robes, shirts, trousers, but the robes on one side were trimmed in green and silver, and in the other, red and gold. In the drawer at the bottom Harry found ties, half Slytherin, half Gryffindor, and under that, shoes. Harry swallowed. There were some of the soft ankle-high dragonhide boots that Draco liked, and there was a pair of brand new white trainers with a blue stripe. "How does it know?" he asked himself. How did it decide to give him Gryffindor garb?

Draco joined him. "Think it knows something we don't?" He waved his wand and passed a Cleaning Charm over both of them, then began slipping into the clothes. 

Harry was not surprised that everything fit. "How's the professor?"

"Out cold. Stopped bleeding, though." Draco ran his fingers through his hair. "How do I look?"

Harry smiled. "I bet if you close the door, you'll find there's a mirror there."

Sure enough, there was. Harry slipped on the pair of trainers but didn't bother with a tie. He put on a robe as well, mostly to have a wand pocket handy. "Now, this envelope has got to mean something, or it wouldn't be here."

Draco reached it first, picking it up in his slender fingers. "It's got your name on it."

Harry had never know the Room to communicate directly, but he figured that couldn't be so odd. "Open it, you'll have to read it to me." 

Draco slipped a finger under the wax seal and pulled out a letter of several sheafs of paper. He began to read.

"'Dear Harry,'" Draco read. "'If you're reading this then you've finally figured out to ask the Room of Requirement for help. That was really smart of you to leave those letters for me in the Library.'"

"Hermione!" Harry shouted. He let out a whoop and leaped in the air like he had just caught the Snitch. "She's a friend of mine from my time! I've been writing letters to her and sticking them in books in the library! I didn't think she'd actually find them!" He put an arm around Draco's waist and peered at the parchment. "Go on, what else does it say?"

"I think we should sit down," Draco pointed out. "It's long and we're exhausted."

"How about on that couch over there?" Harry could make out a piece of furniture against the wall. 

Draco and he settled on the couch and Draco continued reading. "'First of all, you were right that it was the alcove by the Potions classroom and if you hadn't put that tip in about the painting, well, you might not be reading this right now.'" Draco looked at Harry. "Alcove? Painting?"

"Remember that first day I appeared? In your Potions class?" Harry smiled thinking about it. "I had started out in the hallway just outside, when Vincent Crabbe--I'm assuming he's a descendant of Hector's--shoved me into an alcove there. I came rushing out and into the class and... into your class. I figured maybe the alcove was one of the infamous Hogwarts disappearing corridors, but I didn't know if it would take me back again. What does she say about it?"

"'I asked around the portrait galleries and eventually we found the witch who was supposed to be in the painting. It took time, but Professor Dumbledore was eventually able to glean the information from her we needed.'"

"Dumbledore?" Harry felt the name go through him like an electric shock. "He's alive?"

Draco went on. "'You need to be very, very careful, Harry. As you know from our experiences with the Time Turner, it doesn't take much to screw up the time line. In fact, I found your first letter to me back in our third year, when I was using the Time Turner for my classes. That's when I started reading all the books on time in the Hogwarts library. I've known for years that at some point you were going to be transported back in time, but I couldn't say anything about it. The only other person besides me who knows is Dumbledore.'"

"Oh." Harry deflated. "So they worked it all out before I even disappeared."

"What's wrong?" Draco paused in his reading to grip one of Harry's hands in his.

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. "Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard I ever knew. He was the headmaster in my time. And he was killed a couple of months ago..." Harry trailed off, unable to say more, his face stricken as he stared at Draco.

Draco was starting to know that look. "Don't tell me that my great-grandson kills him."

"Um, he tried to, actually. But he couldn't do it. A... different wizard ended up doing it." Harry wondered what Draco Malfoy's life was like now, as a Death Eater. Or had Voldemort done away with him for failing to kill Dumbledore? Harry leaned his head against Draco's shoulder. "Keep reading."

"'To get back, you have to go to the alcove and then recite the incantation I've enclosed. It's pretty complicated, and you'll need to get it perfect, so I'd recommend memorizing it instead of trying to read it from the page. This spell will force the alcove to make its next series of jumps and you'll end up back in 1997 about a week after you left. It was the closest we could come without you overlapping with yourself, which could lead to some real complications. Also, Harry, from what we can tell, the alcove will only be present in 1926 until 6pm October 26th, so it is imperative that you make the jump before then.'" 

"That's tomorrow, isn't it?" Harry looked up in alarm. "No, wait... that's today."

Draco shifted that sheet to the back and scanned the incantation. "It's all in Latin,'" he said.

"It would be," Harry said. "Don't read that part to me. What's on the next page?"

"The letter continues. 'You asked some questions, which I'm sure the Ministry would disapprove of me answering for you, but they aren't involved in this and I know you wouldn't ask if things weren't important to you. And once I started looking into them, well, it's clear to me that there is some mystery and maybe some danger and so here's what I found out. Harry, we need you to return.'" 

Harry felt Draco tense. "What is it? Why did you stop?"

Draco's hand shook slightly and he looked at Harry. "You're going to need a pair of glasses to learn this spell."

"But I don't... oh, duh." He felt in the pocket of the robes he was wearing. "I can be pretty thick sometimes." He pulled a pair of glasses out of an inner pocket and put them on. He squinted. "Well, they're not perfect, but they are pretty close. I guess that's more of the magic-doesn't-work-on-the-eyes business."

Draco nodded, his eyes on the rug. "Here."

He handed the sheaf of papers to Harry who scanned to where he had left off. "Oh." There, in Hermione's neat handwriting was the following paragraph.

You asked about two people in particular, Draco Malfoy and Regulus Black, and I also looked into a third, because it seems like it couldn't just be a coincidence, which is that Phineas Nigellus Black died in 1926.

Draco Malfoy is the great-grandfather of the Draco we know. He did marry Mirabille Frost, there's a record at the Ministry, but there is no record of him having graduated Hogwarts. I had to search pretty deeply, but it appears he never finished out the year and his disappearance was somewhat hushed up, the records are spotty and there's nothing in the Daily Prophet. The mention I did find was in a gossip sheet, about how Mirabille did have a son (Abraxas, who was Lucius' father) but that his father had disappeared before he was born. Regulus Black also disappeared and did not graduate. Did you know Phineas Black is universally regarded as the worst headmaster in Hogwart's history?

Draco had started to shake. "He's going to kill me like he killed Reg," he said.

"He isn't." Harry gripped Draco by the shoulders. "You don't know that. I won't let him."

"Harry..." Draco swallowed his fear, but his eyes were still wide.

"Listen to me, isn't it clear what this means? You father a child with Mirabille. But you disappear before he's born."

"Which means she conceived when we..." Draco gripped Harry's hands tight. "At the Manor. And if Black kills me, now? That won't change anything."

But Harry had wild hope bucking and kicking in his chest. "I think it means that you're coming with me. You disappear, into my time." He pulled Draco to him and held him close. "I won't leave you."

They held each other for a long time, until they heard LeStrange moan from the cot. "I'll tend him," Draco said. "You've got two more pages to go."

Harry reluctantly let Draco slip from his arms and resumed reading. The next page was in a firmer script, still Hermione's handwriting, but she must have written this later.

Harry, you must be very careful. You need to make sure you don't leave anything behind which could bollocks the time line. I'm writing this now three days after you disappeared. As far as Ron and I can tell, you had your school bag with you, your cloak, and some books. The history book in particular could be a real mess--hopefully you've already burned all your books, which I'd think the Ministry would make you do. Make sure everything is either destroyed or returns with you to our time. Professor McGonagall and I will be waiting for you when you reappear. One other good thing about the time jump that will bring you here is that you'll pop in at 10pm, so the corridors will be clear. You can do it, Harry, we know you can.

That page was signed at the bottom, as if Hermione had expected that to be the final section of the letter. But there was one additional page. Harry looked at it and then read it a second time. It merely read:

Tomorrow, you'll appear, if you appear. We need you back here, Harry. I know it must be tempting to stay there in a world without You-Know-Who. But there has been a lot of action lately. Aurors caught up to Snape and Malfoy this morning. Malfoy was killed in the fight, but we have Snape. We need you.

Harry looked across the room to where Draco--now the only Draco?--was kneeling by LeStrange and talking to him in a low voice. He felt strangely hollow, as if he were in a dream, and nothing around him was real.

The other Draco was dead. Gone. The annoying prig who had dogged Harry all these years, who had let the Death Eaters in, who had tried to kill Dumbledore, gone. It didn't seem real.

But Snape. They had Snape. Harry curled his hand into a fist, wondering where Snape was imprisoned and who was working him over. And they needed Harry. His mind filled with images of what the Order of the Phoenix must be up to now. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from the blond wizard just a few yards away, a small smile curving his lips as he said or thought something wry. Harry sighed. They seemed safe enough for now--the bolt on the door seemed to indicate that the Room would not let anyone else in. And if they were really lucky, Black didn't even know where they had gone.

Phineas Black died in 1926. Draco Malfoy the elder disappeared. Harry had to go and retrieve his books from the dungeon. And he had to memorize a page of Latin. 

He had his work cut out for him. Draco gestured to him and he went to LeStrange's side.

"How are you doing, professor?"

LeStrange was sitting up now, looking a bit pallid but otherwise not bad, other than the streaks of dried blood on his face. Harry muttered a quick "Tergeo" to siphon them off, and then sat cross-legged next to Draco. 

LeStrange smiled. "Well, thanks to you two, I'm whole and hale."

Harry shrugged. "You were the one who brought us our wands."

"Yes, because Black would likely have finished me off immediately if you had not been able to head him off. So we are even."

"I take it you tried to talk to the Ministry official." Harry held his apprehension in check.

"I did talk to him, and you can thank Professor Gullwing for her part in that." He held up a hand. "I will tell you everything, just give me a moment. I'm a bit thirsty." 

Harry poured him a goblet of water from the pitcher on top of the cabinet of medicines and handed it to him. LeStrange took a sip and then began his narration. "Yes, well. We knew the Ministry fellow, same one as last time, Gallant, would be coming at nine sharp, and I figured Black would probably not retrieve you until after breakfast. Galatea, bless her Gryffindor soul, slipped Black a potion in his morning constitutional. I believe he keeled over right into his oatmeal in the Great Hall." LeStrange looked quite pleased and Harry couldn't help but smile at the image in his head.

LeStrange went on. "It wasn't enough to knock him out for long, but it kept him incapacitated long enough that I was able to meet the Ministry official coming out of the Floo up in the office, hand off the memories, and give a bit of a speech about the heinous goings-on. At first he was a bit skeptical, but when Black Floo'ed in, wand blazing, and attacked me, well, I think that probably got the picture across pretty clearly." He rubbed his hands together with satisfaction.

"Is Professor Gullwing all right?"

LeStrange's eyes dimmed somewhat. "I assume so, since after administering the potion, she had no more contact with the headmaster as far as I know. They had taken him to the hospital wing and I assumed that he had taken the Floo from there straight to his office."

Draco put a hand on Harry's. "I'm sure she's all right."

Harry nodded. "I hope so. I wonder what is going on out there right now? Would Black go quietly, you think? How long do you think it would take before they came back for him?"

"And would Black be able to keep the Ministry out of Hogwarts if he wished?" Draco looked thoughtful. "How long can we stay here?"

"Well, I think we're safe in this room, but we've only got until dinner if I'm going to return to my time." Harry went on to explain the contents of the letter to the professor, who nodded gravely in agreement. 

"I had better get to learning this spell, then," Harry said, and went back to the couch to have a more comfortable place to sit. No sooner had he sat down, though, than he began to feel sleepy. A yawn cracked his face.

"Maybe you should have a little nap," Draco suggested. "Besides, I had four years of Latin before I came to Hogwarts. Let me have a look." Draco took the letter from his limp fingers, and sat down. Harry kicked off his trainers, stuck the pair of glasses into a robe pocket, and curled up with his feet under his robes and his head in Draco's lap. As he was drifting to sleep, he heard LeStrange's voice from far away say something about how Draco and he seemed to be getting along better, and Draco's laughter tinkling like silver bells.

When he woke, it was to the sound of something crunching, and he realized how hungry he was. He sat up to find his head had been pillowed on a set of folded robes--Draco's--and he and LeStrange were sitting on the cot eating tea biscuits and drinking what smelled like Earl Grey. 

"Good morning, sunshine," Draco drawled, sarcastically waving a biscuit at him. "We seem to have discovered the limits of the Room's provisions."

"What?" Harry asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes and then sticking the glasses back on. They were not the right prescription and made everything seem too close. 

"Well, we were hungry, but all it will give us is biscuits and tea." Draco bit into a biscuit and then waved it at Harry again, this time with mock allure. "Good biscuits, though."

"Don't mind if I do," Harry said, joining them and wolfing down several biscuits before taking even one sip of tea. "Now, we need a plan."

"You should have a look at the spell," Draco said, handing him the page of Latin. 

Harry glanced at it. "Yes. We also need to figure out how to retrieve my books and stuff. I've thought about just trying to Summon them from here, but it seems a bit risky."

LeStrange sipped his tea. "Have you summoned things from such a distance before?"

Harry nodded. "My broom once. Though there weren't as many staircases and hallways and things in the way, and there wasn't a crazed headmaster trying to stop me then, either."

"We had better try to sneak down to the room," Draco said.

"We could Floo to my room, which is much closer," LeStrange suggested.

Harry shook his head. "If Black is still at large, he'll be watching the grates. I know a couple of shortcuts, though, to get us down to the Entrance Hall. We had better do it when everyone is in class though, or we'll be seen for certain."

LeStrange stood then, hand disappearing into his robes and emerging with a worn-looking silver pocket watch. He popped it open and Harry could just make out what looked like a tiny Snitch fluttering around the face of it. "Lunch is over. We're just at the start of the next period, now."

Harry exchanged a look with Draco. "We'd better go now."

"But you haven't learned the spell yet," Draco pointed out.

Harry folded the parchment and put it in his robe pocket. "I know. But you did, didn't you?"

Draco nodded, a touch of arrogance in his eyes. Harry smiled to see it. 

"Right. Let's get moving then. Professor, can you bring up the rear? Let's get to the books first, then head straight to the alcove. Stunners and Shield Charms if we run into trouble, okay?"

The other two nodded. Harry unbolted the door, then stuck his head carefully into the hallway. There was no one in sight other than Barnabas the Barmy in the tapestry across the way. Harry did not need the Marauders Map to find the shortcuts. Many times he and Ron had gone around mischief by Peeves and recalcitrant staircases. 

It was only a few short minutes before they descended the stairs to the entrance hall. All was quiet except for someone humming in the Great Hall--as they rushed across the open space to the stairs down to the dungeons Harry caught a glimpse of the house elves decorating the Great Hall for Halloween. 

So far, so good, Harry thought as they reached the door to the Slytherin dormitory. Here, he paused. The door could easily be charmed to alert someone to their presence. "Wands at the ready," Harry said before speaking the password.

The door swung open on the common room and Harry and Draco rushed across to the archway that led down their hall. They had just reached it when the Floo flared.

"Protego!" LeStrange cried, blocking something large and flaming that came at them from the direction of the hearth. "Go, boys, go!" He stood in the archway with his wand out, muttering an incantation that Harry had no time to hear as he ran to the doorway at the end.

Draco spoke the password and pushed open the latch. Harry grabbed his school bag--the Invisibility Cloak, map, notebooks, all inside. He kicked the small trunk that held his books out from under the bed and set it on fire. He looked around quickly to see if there was anything else. 

"The broom, Harry," Draco said. 

"But that didn't..."

"Not for the time line," Draco said. "We might need it."

Harry nodded, grabbing the Cleansweep from behind the door. "I'm going to miss this door," Harry said, even as they ran past it, and back to LeStrange. 

The professor was sweating, but maintaining a curtain of blue fog through which they could see flashes of light, hexes of various kinds that were being repelled. He glanced at Harry. "I can hold him off like this for a while, but our own spells can't penetrate the veil, either. if I drop it, and all three of us fire at once, we may get lucky and hit him."

Harry shook his head. "What we need is a spell that can go around corners." Then he raised his wand. "Professor, do you know if the Patronus Charm works on people as well as Dementors?"

"Merlin and Morgana, Harry, I don't think I want to know how you even know about such things. I thought it was a brighter, better future you were off to?" LeStrange held up his non-wand hand to keep Harry from answering. "No, no, don't say anything. But yes, if you can cast a corporeal Patronus, it will do your bidding."

Harry nodded. He'd suspected as much. "When my Patronus charges forward, drop the veil," Harry said.

"And then we run for it?" Draco asked.

LeStrange eyed the broom. "I'd say you two should fly. I'll toss up some Shield Charms and do what I can to slow him down. You'll need as much time as you can get to get through that incantation."

"He's right. Thanks, Professor. We'd never have made it without you." He held out his hand as if to clasp LeStrange's left, since the professor's right was still busy with the protective veil, but then hugged the man instead. When he pulled back, Draco hugged him as well, LeStrange closing his eyes for a moment as he pulled Draco close. When Draco stepped back, Harry thought perhaps their eyes gleamed a bit more than usual.

He swung his leg over the Cleansweep, and then Draco did the same, curling his left arm around Harry's waist while keeping his wand out in his right. Harry pointed his wand toward the veil and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!" The familiar white stag leaped out of the wand tip and charged, the veil dissipating as it went through in bluish tendrils. 

Harry kicked and the Cleansweep shot forward. "Get him!" he said to encourage the Patronus, which leaped over several pieces of furniture in pursuit of Black, while he turned his attention to the door, which Draco opened with a spell before they reached it. Then they were in the corridor, the sconces on the walls blurring past as Harry guided them through the labyrinth from the Slytherin dormitory to the main dungeon corridors. There was no time to think about what might happen if he took a wrong turn, or braked too slowly, if they crashed. He just flew, as well as he knew how, thankful for the Cleansweep's superior cornering charms as he executed ninety-degree turn after ninety-degree turn.

They burst into the slightly wider corridor and Harry picked up the speed even a bit more as they went toward the Potions classroom. His and Draco's robes flapped loudly as they flew, or maybe that was the sound of Harry's heart pounding in his ears, a sound he could still hear as he braked just past the Potions room door. 

The alcove was there as if waiting for them. They rushed in. Harry propped the broom against the wall, dropped his bag, and dug the parchment out of his robes. "What do we need to do?"

Draco took the parchment, then stared at the painting, his wand illuminated. "Just make sure no one comes in while I'm reciting this. That should be it." 

Harry stood with his back to Draco, not touching but close enough that even through the robes he sensed Draco's body heat. "Go on."

Draco began to recite. To Harry's ears, so much Latin at once sounded like a prayer, and he prayed that it would work, and that LeStrange was okay, and that everything would be all right.

Draco's recitation continued. His voice was soothing, in a way, confident, flowing over the words that Harry didn't understand, but didn't need to. These are the words that mean we will be together, he told himself, and that was all the meaning he needed.

Then he heard the commotion, a door hitting stone--the Potions classroom door bursting open, he guessed. And he heard a strangled cry, and then Black's voice. "Where are they? I know they're here somewhere, Gaius. You may be closed up tight now, but I saw a glimpse of... and what have we here?"

Harry held his wand at the ready as Phineas Nigellus Black and Gaius LeStrange came into view through the alcove's entrance. Black had LeStrange with one arm pinned behind his back, and a wand digging deep into his throat. 

"Ah, here you are, both of you," Black said, barely visible to Harry as he held LeStrange in front of him. Harry could not take a clear shot without hitting LeStrange, but then Black could not attack while his wand was held against LeStrange's throat. "I owe all three of you a stringent course of memory modification. Looks like I will have to start with the professor here."

LeStrange was shaking his head toward Harry, his eyes trying to tell him to stay away. 

"I'd much rather use a nasty hex to start his brain bleeding until his own skull kills him because of the swelling, but that would be too easy to investigate. No, no, the only solution is to have all three of you attest to the fact that I have been framed by the Head of Slytherin House to hide his own lascivious activities, hence the false memories he has already provided in an effort to have me removed from my post as headmaster."

Draco continued with the spell. Harry's eyes blazed but he said nothing.

"LeStrange will, of course, be sent to Azkaban for life for the horrors he has committed upon his youthful charges."

"I deserve to be punished," LeStrange said, and for a moment Harry wondered if Black had already modified his memory nonverbally. But then he went on. "But you were a thousand times worse, Black!"

"Ah, but I have connections at the Ministry. Why do you think no one has come to drag me off to an inquiry already? It's all being kept very, very quiet."

Harry's mind raced. If he and Draco disappeared, would LeStrange be forced to take the blame for everything? That wasn't right. It simply wasn't right. His inner Slytherin told him to shut up, let Draco finish the spell. Keep Black gloating until it was too late and then, just go.

But his inner Gryffindor was louder. Maybe it was the red and gold-trimmed robe. Or maybe it was just how much Harry hated Phineas Black. He took a step toward them, heard Draco's voice rise in pitch just a bit, but keep reading, and then another.

"Now, now, Mr. Potter, don't try anything rash," said the headmaster, suddenly whipping his wand forward.

Harry's wand flew from his hand. In the next instant he saw Black's wand slash upward as the headmaster cried "Demeto!" and Harry ducked away from the hex, even as LeStrange twisted free and Harry heard Draco's voice go up an octave, but not stop. LeStrange screamed as the next hex hit him and he fell out of Harry's field of vision. Harry felt the floor at his feet but his wand was not in reach. Black then stood in the doorway, his wand pointed at Harry.

But it was not Black's voice Harry heard hurling the next hex. It was the firm, resolute tone of Professor Gullwing. Phineas Black flew as the curse hit him with tremendous force, his head slamming into the stone archway before he slid to the floor, his wand clattering out of his hand to fall at Harry's feet. 

And then suddenly, Draco was silent, and the alcove was silent, and Harry turned to see what had happened. 

Draco had fallen to his knees. His robe was slashed from one buttock all the way up to his shoulder, and the parchment had slipped from his hand. 

"Draco!" Harry rushed to him, his hand touching his back where his robes were soaked with blood.

"I finished it," Draco said simply. He blinked, looking up toward Harry as if half-asleep. "Did it work?"

At that moment, a dark-haired witch on a broom flew into the night sky of the landscape. "Oh, dearie! Here you are! And who is your friend?"

And in the next moment Harry heard a shriek, Hermione's, and he felt her arms around him, hugging him from behind the way he was hugging Draco. "Hermione," he said, unbelievably relieved, the spell had worked, but there was this matter of his lover bleeding profusely to deal with. "Help me," he said as Draco slumped forward.

And suddenly there were three voices all talking at once, and one of them was his, trying to tell them that this wasn't who they thought it was, and that he had been struck by a cutting hex of some kind, while Headmistress McGonagall spoke healing spells and admonishments in the same breath, and Hermione more of the same, only her wand was aimed at Harry's face.

"Mr. Potter, the bleeding has stopped but I would like you get you both somewhere safe posthaste, and you may tell us everything once I am assured your wellbeing is not at risk." McGonagall had her usual no-nonsense tone, which Harry took as a sign that Draco was not about to expire, though he was still unconscious. "The presence here of Mr. Malfoy complicates matters somewhat."

"I had to bring him..." Harry started, touching the place on his temple where the slashing hex had partly caught him. He hadn't even noticed it before now, but Hermione's spell had closed it right up.

"Yes, so you said, and it would appear based on your injuries that you were both in a bit of distress at the moment of departure. I am not scolding you."

"Oh."

"But I think we should keep your friend here out of sight until we have discussed the matter further." She pursed her lips. "Gather your things."

Harry picked up his bag, his wand--no, that was Black's wand. He put it into his bag and then picked up his own from where it had stopped against the wall. There was a small black satchel next to Draco, as well, which Harry hadn't even realized Draco had been carrying. And there under the portrait was a quill, the one Professor Gullwing had spelled for him. He held it in his fingers.

"That will do," McGonagall said, as she turned it into a portkey. 

Perhaps fifteen minutes later they were ensconced in the sitting room at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Madam Pomfrey answering McGonagall's summons and transforming the settee into a hospital bed. Harry sat in the chair next to it, as she positioned the blond wizard on his stomach. Draco's robes and underclothes were severed all the way down to, and through, his skin, and were a total loss. Pomfrey banished the ruined clothes, then gasped when she saw the welts and bruises left by the punishment Draco had suffered in the Room of Correction. She touched her wand to the back of his neck.

Draco woke with a start.

The first thing he saw, though, was Harry, who reached out to stroke his hair while Pomfrey applied numerous healing spells and a topical potion. "There you are... Mr. Malfoy, is it?" she said with a wide, questioning glance at Harry and the headmistress. She helped him to turn over onto his back, then said, "You need to stay still for several hours if you don't want to risk the possibly of opening that up again and a nasty scar. Can you do that, or should I restrain you?"

When both he and Harry burst out laughing at that, she took it as a yes, and turned to dabbing a little of the potion on Harry's face.

"Thank you, Poppy," McGonagall said when she was done, "for your assistance and your discretion."

"Of course, headmistress. I leave them in your care." With that, the mediwitch headed back to the Floo.

The headmistress and Hermione took that as their cue to take seats, but before Professor McGonagall could speak Hermione jumped in. "I take it you got my letter," Hermione said.

"Yes," Harry said. "So you really knew since third year this was going to happen?"

Hermione nodded. "Thankfully, you've only been gone for a week or so, which was easily explained."

Draco spoke. "Did you tell people he went to Lichtenstein?" Which set off another fit of laughter from both of them.

"You'd better shut it," Harry said, "Or Madam Pomfrey really will come back and tie you down." Then he cleared his throat. "Draco Malfoy, meet Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall, and this is Hermione Granger."

"Charmed," said Draco, with nods to each of them.

Professor McGonagall nodded in return. "Harry, I think perhaps you might need to tell us how Mr. Malfoy ended up coming with you."

Harry and Draco shared a look. "Well, the short answer, professor, is that given what Hermione researched about the history of the Malfoys, I concluded that Draco Malfoy's mysterious disappearance in 1926 was my doing all along."

"Did you, now?" McGonagall shot Hermione a look, but Hermione appeared unfazed by it. 

Harry took a deep breath. "I suppose we had better tell the whole story."

The headmistress raised an eyebrow as if she expected no less--and perhaps more--than that. 

So Harry began the story at the beginning, from his arrival in Professor Gullwing's Potions class and Draco sharing his textbook, to his placement in Slytherin, gaining Draco as a roommate, and then the intrigue with Draco's memory being modified. Draco did not say much, as Harry told the tale of the previous six weeks. At first Harry wasn't even aware of reaching out and clasping Draco's fingers in his as he related the story--with some judicious omissions, of course--of Frost shattering the glass and of Black's use of the Polyjuice Potion, and all the events that led to their flight to the alcove. But then he was not only aware of Draco's hand squeezing back, he was acutely aware that both women had noticed. 

"Professor," Harry said, as he rubbed the back of Draco's hand with his thumb, "I think maybe my trip to the past was a good thing in more ways than one. I mean, it seems like without the pressure of worrying about Voldemort all the time, and without the ... distraction of being the Boy-Who-Lived, I was able to..." Be myself. Let my guard down. Fall in love. "...learn a lot."

"Wandless levitation and Legilimency, Harry?" Hermione said with a teasing sparkle in her eye and mock incredulity in her voice. Harry had the distinct impression she had somehow heard his unspoken words. "Quite impressive."

"I learned a lot about magic, yeah," Harry said. "And about myself." Beyond that, though, he wasn't sure what to say, about Draco in particular.

But McGonagall had a bit of a twinkle in her eye as well as she said "It's clear you two have become quite close. Now, have you given any thought as to Mr. Malfoy's future? Because I have a few suggestions to make."

Harry kept Draco's fingers twined in his as the future became the present before their very eyes.


	20. Chapter Twenty and Notes

When Harry returned to the drawing room after having seen the two women off at the kitchen Floo, his voice was hoarse from hours of talking and his stomach suddenly began to flutter. Draco was here, now, not in some dream life but in Harry's real life, in what was now Harry's house. Harry's blood surged up at the thought. They had just spent two hours hashing out possibilities with McGonagall, about whether Draco should finish his schooling at Hogwarts, become a spy for the Order since the other Malfoy's death was yet a secret, or both, or neither. The headmistress was adamant that no decisions be made until they had slept the night through, though Draco had said repeatedly that fighting at Harry's side was what he most wanted.

Right now, though, fighting was not what was on Harry's mind. He stepped into the room and found Draco sitting up with his satchel in his lap.

The blond wizard tossed his hair out of his eyes--neither he nor Harry could wait for it to grow out longer again--and said "Have you got a couple of glasses here, somewhere?"

Harry summoned two small glasses from the cupboard and held them both in one hand. "What for?"

Draco pulled a bottle from the satchel and Harry recognized it as the cassis liqueur. Draco motioned for Harry to give him the glasses, and said with a sheepish smirk, "It was the only thing worth taking from that room." He poured two measures, then handed one to Harry. "I remembered that you'd never had more than the tiniest taste of it, and it was something I wanted to share with you." Draco's throat tightened and he felt his eyes go hot. "Something I want to share very much."

Harry rolled the jewel-like liquid around in the glass. "Thank you," he said, because he didn't know what else to say. 

Draco stood, and they clinked their glasses together, and then each looking over the rim of his glass at the other, they drank. Harry just sipped at first, but when he saw Draco tip his glass back and drain it, he did the same. Sweet fire ran down his insides and through his veins. His skin felt as though gentle licks of flames were flickering all over, as an ember glowed from somewhere below his navel. 

He gasped. "And you were going to add Heart's Delight to this?"

Draco laughed. "It's just liquor, Harry. Anything special or different you are feeling is all your own."

Harry tugged at Draco's hospital white robes, pulling him close. "Do you think two hours of parley was enough time for your wound to heal?"

Draco leaned forward as he said "It had better have been, because I don't think I'll be sitting still for much longer." He tried to catch Harry's mouth in a kiss, but Harry ducked away.

"Let me show you upstairs." Harry pulled Draco by the robe again, and up the stairs they went, to the room Harry had stayed in upon his first trip to Grimmauld Place and the one that even now felt most like his. 

And once through the door, he turned to Draco, pressing the other wizard's back against the wood with his body, the hard plane of his chest against Draco's as his chin tilted, seeking a kiss. Draco's mouth tasted of the same sweet fire as Harry's tongue, and again he felt the flames licking at his skin. He wanted to be rid of his robes, to fan the flames with air, to feel Draco's fingers adding to the caressing of his nerves, and for a moment he tugged at the top button on his shirt. 

Draco, as usual, was quicker to try a magic solution, vanishing every stitch of clothing from them both and moaning into Harry's mouth as the sensation of Harry's hot skin against his was sudden and sweet. 

Then Harry broke away, and laughed, and Draco laughed, too, and it was clear to them both that they both tingled with a little nervousness.

Draco caught one of Harry's hands, and kissed the tips of his fingers, one at a time, then said "It's like the first time all over again."

Harry seemed to have momentarily lost the ability to speak, and he merely nodded, stepping close again, his glasses now in his free hand, his mouth and tongue seeking out the sensitive warm places on Draco's neck, behind his ear, there, and there, where his neck became his shoulder, and there... 

Draco gripped him by the shoulders, impatient for a kiss and needing a moment to not have his erection brushing hard against Harry, returning his mouth to Harry's and drawing Harry's tongue between his teeth.

Harry pulled him to the bed, walking backwards as Malfoy's head dipped forward again and again, trying to steal one more kiss from Harry's lips, until the backs of Harry's thighs bumped the mattress and Draco pressed him back onto the bed, then ran his hands down his chest, over his ribs, sliding down the V of his groin on either side of Harry's balls.

Harry moaned.

"Impertinent!" came a voice from a picture frame on the wall.

Draco froze, while Harry burst out laughing. "Oh, god, I forgot. The portrait."

Draco's eyes flicked from the frame to Harry and back. "Is that who I think it is?"

Harry couldn't contain his laughter now, though he tried, holding his sides. "Yes." Two hours of talking and they had barely scratched the surface of all the things Draco needed to know about Harry. "This was the Black family home. My godfather willed it to me." He got up on his knees on the bed and reached out to stroke Draco's slender and elegantly curved erection. "The headmaster splits his time between here and his portrait at Hogwarts."

Draco bit his lip, arching with urgency toward Harry's stroking but clearly distracted. "I'm not sure I can... I mean, given what he was doing..."

Harry silenced him by inserting his index finger into Draco's mouth. "I don't know. I rather relish the thought of making the sadistic old closet case suffer."

Draco sucked by way of answer.

"I love the thought that you give me what he had to scheme for," Harry said. He pulled his wet finger from Draco's mouth and circled one of Draco's nipples with it. Draco's spine snaked and twisted, and when he opened his eyes, he knocked Harry flat beneath him on the bed which creaked invitingly.

Draco thrust the bone of his hip against Harry's erection, or maybe it was his erection he thrust against Harry's hip--the effect was the same. He shifted over a few inches, so his cock and Harry's touched, and he settled back, then pulled himself up on his arms, making a long stroke of sensation for them both. Harry cried out and clutched at him, but closed his eyes, letting Draco set the rhythm and pace. Draco rubbed him that way over and over, the slickness of their sweat and dots of pre-come making him press all the harder as time went on. 

His shoulders began to tremble as he got close, and he rolled to his side next to Harry, his cock twitching needily, his throat dry as he said "It's your turn."

Harry's eyelashes fluttered apart. "My turn to what?" He traced Draco's eyebrows with his fingers.

"Be inside me." Draco's insides convulsed a little in anticipation. "Please, Harry."

"Oh, absolutely." Harry rolled Draco onto his back and kissed him again, a deep, hungry kiss that shifted the control back into Harry's hands. "You don't have to beg." He took Draco's hand in his and guided it down to his cock. Harry shivered like a plucked bow string as Draco grasped it and stroked it, making him harder and whetting both of their appetites. 

"Draco," Harry breathed. "We still didn't come up with a nickname for you."

"What's wrong with 'Draco?'" Draco asked, as he closed his fingers over the petal-soft head of Harry's cock. 

"It sounds so... formal. And I want to call you something different from what... anyone else called you." Harry's cock twitched in Draco's hand and again that fierce sense of possessiveness welled up in him.

"And what about you?' Draco said, slipping his fingers down to curl around Harry's balls. "Harry isn't short for Harold or anything, is it?"

"Nope, just Harry." Harry summoned his wand, applied a lubrication charm to Draco's hand and then moaned deep in his throat as Draco slicked him thoroughly. 

"Something will present itself in time, then," Draco said, scooting a bit lower on the bed, and spreading his legs. 

"Will it, now," Harry whispered, meant to be a joke, but he was suddenly intent on positioning himself. He slipped one slick finger inside Draco, but knew not to go too deeply and did it mostly just to tease. Draco liked it best when he took as much as possible as quickly as possible. Harry had read his mind so many times in the past, he knew the feeling Draco loved, of being taken, being transported by that one searing stroke into a different plane of existence.

Harry smiled as his slick cockhead nosed at Draco's entrance. Because isn't that exactly what I've done? Harry thought. He'd taken Draco out of his old life, and brought him into Harry's. 

"I thought you said I didn't have to beg," Draco wheedled.

"Sorry, love," Harry said. "I wasn't making you wait on purpose." He bent his head, though, to suckle Draco's nipple for a moment before he set his hips and pushed. There was the initial resistance, and then he sank deep into the tightness and heat that was Draco.

Now it was Harry's turn to set the pace, and he set it languid but regular, in no hurry to either come or bring Draco off, luxuriating in the feeling of being seated deep inside Draco's body, the sensation of stroking back and forth, the taste of cassis still on his tongue. After a few minutes he slipped into the trance-like state he was beginning to associate with long-term magic, losing himself in the pendulum quality of time repeating itself as he fucked his lover.

Harry came to himself some time later, fucking a bit faster and bit harder than he had started, but he felt a tension change in Draco. "What's wrong?"

Draco kissed him on the eyelids. "Nothing wrong. You know, my mind was just drifting, and I realized you haven't told me what happened to LeStrange."

Harry did not pause in his motion, but slowed just a bit. "I'm not sure. He was hit by a hex that knocked him out of my view."

"I don't suppose it matters now," Draco said, his breath catching as he felt a ripple go through his insides as Harry changed his angle slightly. "He would probably be dead and gone no matter what, by now."

"I am so lucky," Harry said into Draco's ear.

"Why?"

"You know LeStrange really had a thing for you?" He shuddered as Draco tightened around him.

"I know. I saw in your memory."

Harry nodded. "I am lucky because I get to have you. For my own. No hiding. No secrets."

"Yes," Draco said, clenching suddenly. "Harry!" he said urgently.

Harry nodded, reaching down to Draco's throbbing cock, and bringing him off knowingly, lovingly, even as he began to thrust harder himself, until they were both lying there, sweaty and spent.

They slid under the covers, then, and talked quietly for a time. 

"If I enroll at Hogwarts, which house will I be in?" Draco wondered.

Harry yawned. "I can't imagine you as anything but a Slytherin. And if you're going to try to take Malfoy's place, that's the only thing that would make sense."

Draco nodded. "There's really only one reason I want to be sorted there, though," he said.

"What's that?"

"I want to find out if that cracked flagstone is still there."

"I know the one you mean." Harry felt his magic curl contentedly in his belly. "The tower is going to seem awfully small and cramped to me, now."

"I'll teach you the silencing charm for the curtains," Draco said, settling his face against Harry's shoulder and closing his eyes sleepily. "In the morning."

"In the morning," Harry agreed. 

Tomorrow they would look up LeStrange's records. Tomorrow there would be decisions to make. Tomorrow there would be the threat of Voldemort and the prophecy. Tonight, there was a twosome of wizards, falling asleep in each other's arms.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-  
THE END  
-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Revised Tempus endotes

Author's Notes on "Tempus": 

Okay, this is the section for you people who like to watch the "making of" features on DVDs almost as much as watching the movies themselves. Here's where I tell you a bunch of behind the scenes stuff about the creative process, the gaffes, challenges, kludges, tantrums, and the like.

A note for February 2007: Tempus was been nominated for various awards in the past year, including a Multifaceted Award, and The Quills award. Hasn't won anything yet, but it's nice it's getting nominated.

Update: June 2014: Didn't win any of the awards but it was really cool being nominated anyway! Lots of people read the fic as a result! :-)

ORIGINS OF TEMPUS  
When I sat down to write this fic, I had no idea it was going to turn out to be novel-length. Actually, some part of my brain probably did, but most of me was in denial about it. I figured it would be a kind of longish story, maybe 10,000 words. Try more like 85,000, which is the same length as most commercial romance novels. Coincidence?

Miraba was there when I got the flash of inspiration that became "Tempus." We were in my kitchen; she had come over for dinner and to watch anime (we were watching 'Berserk' if you must know) and I was peeling carrots or doing some other kitchen-type task. She was telling me about an alternative universe fic in which Draco is a Ravenclaw, which I had not yet read (It's mistful's "If You've a Ready Mind"). I suddenly flashed on this idea of Harry going back in time, pre-Voldemort, and being a Slytherin. I think I said something at the time like "Holy crap, I just got an idea of how to make Harry a Slytherin." And also how to do a Harry/Draco pairing in it without it being an "alternate universe." It's our same Harry, HBP-compliant, which is why I didn't consider "Tempus" an "AU" story at the time, though it is, of course, a different Draco. (More on that later.)

Anyway, this little nugget bumped around in my brain for about two days when regan_v announced the formation of an LJ community and a new challenge "fest" to revisit well-worn HP fan fic cliches, but give them new twists. She compiled a massive chart of possibilities--for example, there are scads of forced-bonding stories involving Snape and Harry. Why can't it be someone ELSE who has to bond with Snape for once? (One of the best stories in the Fest has Snape and Lupin doing just that. V. hot.) Anyway, one of the available categories was "time travel" with an H/D pairing. Bingo. I signed up and started writing.

FIC AS DRUG  
The HP Cliche fest ran the month of April 2006, and I thought for sure I would be done with "Tempus" by the time the month ended. Well, I got halfway there. I might have gotten further if my RSI flaring up hadn't cut my typing time down severely, oh, and also things like sleep, eating, work... 

I really could have sat here on an IV drip for days on end, doing nothing but write this fic. I'm sure we've all had the experience of *reading* a fic being addictive, but writing one can be, too. During the six weeks or so I was working on the novel, I slept only 6-7 hours a night and I didn't feel tired. (Then I finished chapter 19, the last 'plotty' chapter, at 3am one night, and the next day was wrecked for the entire day... my body finally said "enough" and shut down on me. I finished chapter 20 the next day and then slept for ten hours straight.)

WHY 1926?  
I settled on setting the story in 1926 for a number of reasons. First, I wanted it to be before the recent rise of Dark Wizards like Grindelwald and Voldemort, Second, I also wanted to be sure it was after Dumbledore had left Hogwarts as a student (around 1863) but before he began teaching at Hogwarts. Third, I wanted the background to be 20th century enough that nothing is that different to Harry within the castle walls. Fourth, I wanted to go far enough back in time that it was feasible for there to be a Malfoy ancestor we have never heard of, and the timing works out for a "Draco" who is the great-grandfather of "our" Draco to have been in his seventh year at Hogwarts then. (Rowling has not said what Abraxas Malfoy's father's name was, but the various family trees we have definitely show a penchant for re-using first names, so it seemed quite feasible to me. Even though, I know, Draco is probably more likely a Black family name, though none appear on the Black Family Tree other than the one we know from Harry's age.) And finally, what clinched 1926 for me, is that according to the Black Family Tree that J. K. Rowling drew, Phineas Nigellus Black dies in 1926.

STICKING TO THE CANON VS. ORIGINAL CHARACTERS  
Yes, I like sticking to the canon as much as possible. That's part of the fun. I didn't have to make up Regulus Black either, he's also on the Black family tree. I had to fudge his birth date a little, but Rowling herself admitted that some of the dates on the tree are a bit dodgy, so I feel I stuck as close as I could.

Once I had the year, I started writing. The first original character I came up with was Galatea Gullwing. I wanted a potions teacher who was about as un-Snape-like as I could get, and what I ended up with actually was a character very similar to what my first impression of Minerva McGonagall was. (I don't know why, but when I first read book one, I thought McGonagall was much younger, and I had to revise my image of her as the series has gone on.) Her counterpoint, of course, is Gaius LeStrange.

I chose the name Galatea Gullwing to follow JKR's habit of giving people alliterative names (Filius Flitwick, Severus Snape, Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall). And I chose "Gaius" for LeStrange as a nod to another smart but often hapless character who is constantly caught betwixt and between: Gaius Baltar on the what was then the new Battlestar Galactica.

BUGS IN THE CANON  
In the course of the story, though, I couldn't help but air some of my pet peeves with the canon, like the whole issue that if we have magical medicine, why does anyone still wear glasses? JKR has never answered the question as far as I can tell, so I provided my own answer here: the eyes are inherently difficult to work with magic. Also, what is the deal with wandless magic? Why do wizards need wands, anyway--are they mostly a crutch or a shortcut to channeling one's magical energy? Why don't wands seem necessary for Apparition, one of the most difficult of all spells? Also, after the fight with Malfoy in the train in HBP, Harry is in a full-body bind, but tries to summon his wand to his hand. He fails. It's never explained whether it's just impossible to do or if it is just something Harry hasn't learned, or if being bound by another spell keeps it from working. My supposition is that it IS possible to do, just Harry couldn't do it in those circumstances. (They really only start to learn non-verbal spells in the 6th year.)

Somewhere around chapter 3, I began to twig to the fact that I wasn't being consistent with the canon in a couple of other picayune ways, the most obvious of which was that I was not capitalizing the way they do in the books. But there is a part of me that says the capitalization is out of control in the books. Why is Muggle always capitalized, but wizard not? Why is Quidditch capitalized, as is Quaffle, Snitch, etc... when for example cricket (and bat and ball) are not? Why does Invisibility Cloak always appear in caps--is it a brand name? (After DH we know it's not, but it still seems odd.)

So I started teaching some of these capitalizations to my spellchecker. Unfortunately as the document got longer, Microsoft Word eventually decided there were so many spelling questions, it would no longer check as I went along. And here's something interesting. Dumbledore was *already* in the Word dictionary. But when I tried to get it to accept Voldemort, it crashed. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Spellchecked.

REFERENCES  
Next, I realized I needed some spells and incantations not in the canon. I've been using two main references besides the books themselves whenever I need to look up a spell, potion, animal, place name, or family tree, the Harry Potter Lexicon and the Wikipedia entries on Harry Potter. I use the lexicon more, but Google searches often led me to the Wikipedia entries, too.

One of the interesting tidbits I stumbled on was the following, about Phineas Nigellus Black's name: 

From the Lexicon: "'Phineas' is an English variant of 'Phinehas,' a name from the Bible. 'Phinehas' probably means "Nubian," though some believe it means "serpent's mouth" in Hebrew."

From Wikipedia: " J.K. Rowling's choice for his first name is also a meaningful one. In the Bible Phinehas, grandson of Aaron, is a high priest who kills two persons who have sex because they belong to different ethnic and religious groups. His example has been used to justify attacks on interracial couples over the centuries. This corresponds to the Black family motto."

I was already nearing the end of the writing when I came across this and it confirmed my suspicion that the headmaster was indeed capable of murder. 

Now, you might not believe this, but when I started writing, I plotted out the events pretty well, but what I didn't know was at the very end whether we were going to end up with a tragic scenario (where Draco dies, for example) or a happy one, where everyone gets what they deserve. I knew Harry would be going back to his own time--my fetish for sticking with the canon meant he has to be there for Book 7, but beyond that I really wasn't sure. Realizing that Black could and would AK Draco in the back if given provocation was a big one for me. But in the end, this story was not about death and is not a tragedy. The greater payoff for the emotional investment in the story for me (and the readers, I bet) came in getting them together, not in killing Draco off. 

BUT WHY DID YOU KILL PRESENT-DAY DRACO?  
Actually, I didn't, and my plan was for modern-day Draco to be involved in the sequel, but I thought it was important for Harry not to worry about whether there would be too many Dracos in the future. I promise I didn't actually kill him. 

INVENTED SPELLS  
Earlier in the References section I was talking about inventing incantations. I don't know crap about Latin, never had it in school, nothing like that. So I totally have fudged these. JKR seems pretty creative about the way she bends the Latin roots to her own purposes, so I hope mine are not too too far off. I often used an online English-to-Latin dictionary to find word roots and the like, from University of Notre Dame website.

Hence a few of the ones I invented:

Saggito Flammare: from the words meaning "shoot" and "flames"

Demeto: "to mow, reap, cut down or cut off"

Obliviate exculpo memoria commutato: The modified version of the memory charm "Obliviate" which LeStrange uses specifically says that not only are the memories being erased, but changed and replaced. Exculpo means "to scratch out, erase," memoria is memory, and commutato is change or mutate.

Pyramidus inturbidus -- literally "cone of quiet." 

I have never specified the incantation for the cleaning charm(s) used post-coitus, but I have a feeling it is probably something gentler than "Scourgify."

 

THE SLYTHERINS  
For the most part, the other original characters I invented make up Harry's Slytherin cohort. I didn't just want to populate the entire cast with ancestors of people Harry knows, so there are a few, like Hector Crabbe, but most of them I invented. Barnabas Carrow might or might not be an ancestor of some Death Eaters we know. Whittington, Frost, Fogg, Phillips, I invented them all as far as I know, and no, they aren't based on people I know. I tried to portray a somewhat-cliquish, morally neutral bunch of mostly upper class kids. 

SLYTHERIN GAMES  
I would have liked to have had more time to explore the Slytherin common room games, but the plot was crying out to move forward, so there are only three. "Truth or Dare" should be pretty familiar to most English-speakers. I poked around trying to do some research as to how long people have called it that and whether it was played in Muggle Britain in the 1920s... hard to tell, but probably it was. I looked into the rules and there are various variations, but I think I went with the one that seems most like the one I played as a teenager. "Bell, book, and candle" has the identical rules to the "rock, paper, scissors" I played in junior high school, including the penalty swat on the arm. (Probably one of my earliest exercises in consensual masochism, now that I think about it. Man, I loved that game...) The phrase "bell, book, and candle" is usually recognized by people from an old movie by that name about a family of witches. The phrase is a fairly old British one which people think refers to witchcraft as if witches and wizards would need those three items for spellcasting, but what is ironic is that the actual derivation of the phrase comes from the Catholic Church. The ceremony to excommunicate a witch uses a bell, book, and candle, as per http://www.phrases.org.uk: "In the excommunication ceremony officials close the book, quench the candle and toll a bell, as for someone who had died." The galleon rolling game is my magical version of "quarters" or maybe "flip cup" but without the drinking. Spanking is much more fun.

DRACO'S CHARACTER  
So, I wanted a Draco Malfoy who was believably Draco-like, who answered the following question: what might Draco have been like without Voldemort in his life, i.e. without a Death Eater for a father and the shadow of evil in his house? Draco in the canon, books 1-5, really doesn't have much of a character. He is one-dimensional, mostly a foil for Harry and a plot device, but in book 6 JKR began to give us a bit more. We see more of him interacting with other Slytherins (in the train compartment), proving his prowess as an actually pretty powerful wizard, standing up to Snape, and on the tower maybe even coming to realize that he doesn't have to become what his father has pushed him to be. Knowing that the 1997 Draco Malfoy had previously unseen depths of character made this Draco much easier to envision.

DRACO'S MASOCHISM  
The one part of Draco's character that I inserted purely on my own was this--I don't think there's much canon evidence that Draco is a masochist. I wrestled with this quite a bit. The easier route would have been just to make Draco a run of the mill victim, and not a masochist. He is gay at a time when the Wizarding World does not accept it, which gives him a somewhat skewed view of what love is or can be, but deep down his masochism is NOT based in self-hate or self-destructive impulse. He feels suffocated by his safe, pampered life and he feels the most alive when he's in pain. As a teenager he has discovered the erotic potential for pain play as well as the relief that comes in the bedroom when he goes from being the one in charge all the time (prince of the Slytherins) to being bound and helpless. It's his need for it that makes him vulnerable to Reg Black in the first place, and unfortunately that is what opens the door for the non-consensual rape and abuse which follows at the hands of the Polyjuiced Phineas Black. (Trust me, even the deepest-entrenched sexual masochists do not want to be raped.) It would have been so much easier for Harry to help Draco heal after the rape if Draco didn't have a masochistic streak to deal with, too, but well, nothing is ever that simple in Harry's life, is it?

MOST DIFFICULT THING TO WRITE  
The thing I had repeated trouble with was tracking Harry's glasses. Is he wearing them? Is he not wearing them? If he takes them off during sex, where does he put them? Did I remember to have him take them off? Or put them back on? Please Harry, when you get out of Hogwarts and defeat Voldemort, please consider LASIK surgery. That or magically charm them to disappear when you get amorous and reappear when you are finished. 

THOUGHTS ON A SEQUEL?  
As you know, the story ends in a place ripe for a sequel, as Harry returns to the point before Book 7 would begin. About two years after writing Tempus I worked on a sequel called "Oriens" but I was never able to get past the fourth chapter. In 2009 my pro writing career got very busy (partly because I confessed to my agent that I had written this H/D romance novel! and so after years of writing erotica and science fiction, suddenly I started publishing romance!) and I've been continuously insanely busy with pro fic ever since. It's 2014 when I'm updating these notes and I've given up on ever writing the sequel, I'm afraid. 

FINALLY...  
While writing this, I occasionally looked at fan art and things to give my mind more things to play with. And then Faire_Weather actually created a piece of fanart to illustrate the scene by the lake after they have been flying. You can find it here: 

http://ravenna-c-tan.livejournal.com/8958.html

THANK YOU ALL FOR READING! I HAD A GREAT TIME WRITING THIS FIC AND I'M GLAD I SHARED IT WITH YOU!

[The best place to read ALL my Potterverse fics, most of which are H/D, with some Snaco and Snarry, is at my livejournal where I'm ravenna_c_tan. Please friend me to keep up on what's new.]


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